Shikabane Noir
by Mlawrance
Summary: Fleeing from the ruination of a previous life, a young man arrives in Japan, only to be embroiled in a world of religious politics, gang violence, 'dirty science', death - and undeath. Based on the Shikabane Hime Theme - orig. plot/orig. main chars
1. Chapter 1: Evil Woman

**Chapter 1:**

**Evil Woman**

The flight was delayed nearly two hours, yet when it landed in the early evening, the rain was still lashing the ridged asphalt the stretched austerely and intersected to form the main runways of Narita. The terminal itself was a different affair, bearing neon lettering that declared its name in both Kanji and English in a pale green that I presumed was intended to be neutrally welcoming. I didn't feel welcomed. I felt agitated. The flight had been atrocious. It was not merely the inherent discomforts of air-travel; I had resigned myself to those before I had stepped onto the fourteen hour flight at JFK. Unlike most games of chance, airline seating doesn't flirt with the possibility of favorable outcomes. Like Russian roulette, the very best you could hope for what a neutral outcome, and the worst, well…

He wasn't talkative, or impertinent or rude in the slightest, as many perfectly agreeable people are want to be when forced into the close quarters required of flight. During the entire trip, I couldn't recall him speaking a single word aside to me, even when I indicated my need to leave my seat during the time we were airborne. It was the smell. It shocked me at first, as I had at first been thankful. He had seemed so well put together, in his neat suit, his attaché case held in his narrow lap. Yet the moment I sat down, I was immediately and uncomfortably aware of it. I fought at first, of course, but was forced to acknowledge the offending party was my travel companion. Every shift and sway during the flight led to a new wave of malodorous, putrescent stink to fill my nostrils. And matters of hygiene cannot be breached amongst strangers. I was stuck.

_Shit._

By the time the wheels touched tarmac at Narita, the impact was enough to send a bolt of pain through my throbbing skull. I was at my limit. I had convinced myself not to claw at the rivets of the window, to stand and perform my post-flight ritual without pause or delay, and get the hell away. I had stood up to reclaim my luggage from the overhead compartment when I felt pressure – that subtle pressure at the base of my neck that accompanied the subconscious awareness I was being watched. I glanced down.

He was staring up at me intently. His face was drawn, pale, and gaunt. His eyes were sunken, as if by illness or a chronic lack of sleep. And in his eyes reflected such damning condemnation and accusation that I blinked, and nearly turned aside. I settled for raising a single brow in unspoken question, and those the embers in his eyes continued to blaze at me a moment more, they turned aside to regard the window without a single syllable passing his gravely pursed lips. Outside, the rain continued to abuse the asphalt, which in turn rebuffed it, the force of the deluge leaving a fine spray of mist that hovered about the ground like an ethereal shroud.

_What the fuck was that?_

* * *

><p>The envelope that married the flight deck to the terminal floor was warm – it was still early in the summer, but I couldn't tell through the sullen gray blanket that blotted the sky if the sun had set or not. The world was in limbo, that specific time of day when it cannot decide if it is still dusk, or to move on to twilight, and the terminal seemed almost gray-scaled, despite the unnaturally pallor cast by the fluorescents. The wounded duffle bag – a scarred veteran of many previous drifts – was laden with everything I'd need. It was heavy. After a few steps down the exit arm, and the brass buckles on the strap were sinking into my curled palm like dulled teeth.<p>

I stepped out onto the concourse, where a number of families were exchanging greetings and the healthy population of tourists was looking about in their self satisfied way. I had neither family nor self-satisfaction here. I turned to go when the pressure returned to the base of my skull and my eyes went aside. She was standing near one of the moving walkways, the small of her back pressed against one of the pylons that marked the edge of the matted black rubber handrails that glided past her, curling underneath silently to complete the circuit. She was young – perhaps a year my junior. Her dark hair had been collected up onto the top of her head in a fashionable bob that kept it free of the curve of her chin, save for a lone tress that was left deliberately hanging over her brow – a fashion statement, I guessed. She was dressed wholly unremarkably – a skirt that stopped just above her knees and a plain white blouse. Once again, it was the eyes.

Her eyes were dark enough – not strange in itself – but for the second time in the space of a few minutes I found myself fixated by a look of total contempt and distaste. I blinked again, but I had long since reached the end of the rope, and try as I might to tie a knot and hold on, I could feel my composure going. It was lucky then I caught the angle of her gaze and in a moment of clarity understood she was looking beyond me. In a moment of human susceptibility, I performed the usual tick and flicked my head around to join in her staring, and found myself watching the shoulders of the putrid man I had been seated beside. If he noticed her ire fixed upon him, he gave no sign nor turned to look, and instead slipped away down the concourse without a glance over his shoulder. It struck me as familiar, and after a moment of thought, I placed it. It was the way a jackal slinks from a kill when the lioness comes to feed.

I turned to give the girl a proper examination, but she was gone – bled away into the mass of the human current moving along the walkway she had previously perched upon. My moment of pensive curiosity gone and the agitation returned like a hammer blow. My temples thudded dully, and a hand reflexively closed two fingers against the bridge of my nose with a sigh. I'd had enough of people staring at me – people staring _near_ or _around_ me, as well. Momentarily thankful of my complete lack of belongings outside of my bag, I stepped onto the walkway, praying to an absent God that there would be a taxi rink somewhere at the end of it.

* * *

><p>Tokyo proper – the city centre – is almost fifty miles southwest of Narita. It wasn't going to be cheap, but I didn't care much. I checked the billfold I carried. A neat stack of pale yen notes lay where I had transferred them after visiting the currency exchange. Just over four-hundred and thirty thousand yen, most a stale brown indicating denominations of ten-thousand each greeted me. Enough to keep me going for a while, at least. I slipped the fold away and retrieved my mp3 player from the front pocket of my duffle bag and inserted one bud into my ear. I was waiting for my collection to load when the cab driver spoke. He spoke English with only a trace of accent – I'm guessing most of the ones sent to pick up tourists at Narita do.<p>

"You came to Tokyo to visit Kabukicho?" he asked, and in the rearview mirror, I saw his dark brows arch.

"I have a place there", I answered. Japanese.

"Your accent is terrible." He didn't seem surprised.

"I get that a lot."

There was a pregnant pause for a long moment, the glow of the various streetlamps scattering orange light in rhythmic passing about the interior of the cab. He broke it after a time.

"Kabukicho has a terrible reputation."

"Then I'll fit in."  
>I could see in the mirror now that the corner of his lips twisted upwards into an amused, knowing smile. He shook his head and spoke simply.<p>

"You'll be in good company, then."

We were silent then. I pressed my thumb against the shuffle button, heard the familiar pop as my ear buds engaged, and then Yoko Kanno, _Rain_. I closed my eyes.

* * *

><p>I paid the driver, and tipped him.<p>

"I'm guessing you want me to forget you", he said easily – habitually. As he leaned across the console housing the gearstick, the obscene crimson lighting of the brothel behind me cast deep shadows under his eyes. Unlike the man from the plane, his looked natural. He looked dog tired, old, and worn-through. I don't think Kabukicho agreed with him.

"If it helps you."

"Don't be cocky in this part of town, American."

"Alright. Thanks."  
>I watched the cab pull away from the curb. It was well after sunset and the rain was still beating itself fitfully against the pavement, slicking it with a sheen that glistened unattractively beneath the buzz of the red-light district's namesake ornaments. I slung my bag over my right shoulder, feeling the comfortable weight settle across my spine. I was tired enough to feel my grip slipping, but the weight of the bag seemed to anchor me back into the ground at my feet.<p>

The tenet housing I had rented was a block or so down, but I hadn't had the taxi drop me off right in front of it. Paranoia, I guess. I eyed the red-rimmed doorway before me speculatively for a moment before I turned and began moving down the street. It was surprisingly dark, with the sky brooding as it was, but there were still plenty of people milling about. There was a surprising number of tourists – I guess the allure of the seedier parts of town has its draw – and a number of strong-arms lounging. Not Yakuza – they had enough clout not to loiter out in the street when they owned most of the buildings on it – but some local thugs. They seemed content to be ignored.

I passed one of the sparse dining alcoves that clung to the side of one of the larger establishments – an apartment complex of which the storefront was the foot. The smell was intoxicating, which was a feat as the alley beside it was choked with stagnant runoff. I hadn't eaten in a day. I'd grab something once I had myself settled. I cross the sliver of pavement that announced the opening of the alley and was about to pass on when I heard a gurgled cough that sloshed its way down the drainage gully towards me. I turned. A figure in a dark suit was lying across the gully.

I sighed.

"Hey?"

No response.

"Too much sake, eh?"

Nothing. Maybe it was a tourist. Maybe it was a thief, but the Yakuza took a pretty dim view on petty crime in Kabukicho – they didn't want the detectives to have a valid, legal reason to be dogging their turf.

"Hey, chief." English this time. A twitch, but nothing coherent. This guy was in bad shape for sure. I drew closer, slinging my bag down, ensuring it stayed clear of the sullied run-off from the surrounding drains. It looked like all the adjacent buildings used this gully as a sewer. I was a few paces away when two things simultaneously grew obvious. It was my odiferous flight mate, and he was quite clearly dead.

I should have thought through it. Tokyo has a population in excess of thirteen million, and Kabukicho was well beyond fifty miles away from Narika. No coincidence. My subconscious howled this to me, but I was tired, and wasn't thinking straight. I shouldn't make excuses.

I was being stupid.

I was surprised when the dead man tried to throttle me.

* * *

><p>I had rolled him over in order to check his pulse, but the spongy, yielding consistency of his shoulder as I turned him implied he had been lying in the dirty water for some time. I hadn't the time to recognize the impossible extent of decomposition he had undergone in the short time since I had seen him last before his hand shot out and hooked around my shoulder, curling into a claw that dug fingernails into the flesh of my back and kept me pinned, face to face with the abomination. His face was covered in dark, murky patched of necrosis, and was wholly eaten away in places, exposing the sinewy strands of facial muscle that worked horribly beneath as he grinned up at me. His mouth was enormous – it stretched cleanly from his ear to ear, like a frog's, and his face had flattened and sunk back into itself, completing the toad-like illusion. On eye bulged sightlessly from its socket, while the other was simply gone – a black, blood-flecked hole where it should have been. Small tendrils of inky black danced and twisted within the socket, and as he opened his mouth with a malignant hiss, more ropes of putrid matter writhed across the swollen, purple flesh of his tongue.<p>

My initial shocked horror was overwhelmed with disgust and revulsion of the state of decay the dead man was in, and with it came a wave of instinctive anger that propelled me into leaning back, drawing his torso up with mine as I pulled back a fist. The blow I threw into his chin snapped his head around, but his grip on my shoulder didn't ease. He lifted his other hand to my throat and suddenly I found my windpipe constricted in a vice of iron. The rim of my vision began to haze over, and I was dimly away as my body was pushed upwards, the tips of my running shoes scraping against the paving stones of the alley as I was suspended in the curled fist of the corpse. My sight was going, but I could still hear the things gurgled, excited breathing as it choked the life from me.

The swath of my sight had grayed out and I was moments from going under. The kicks I had intended to batter this _thing's_ shins were merely twitches, when I felt a shuddering impact run up the length of the dead man's arm, and the bloated fingers about my neck slackened. A bolt of pain surged through my throat and down my spine as I drew a breath, and swung a fist blindly that miraculously found the soft point of the corpses' chin, denting the decayed flesh inwards with a wet pop. Something crunched and the thing staggered away, and I dropped onto my knees, hacking violently as I sucked in a breath. I wrapped a soothing hand about my burning neck. Reflexive tears searing the corner of my eyes, I attempted to force myself up to be ready for the thing, but my legs weren't cooperating, and the murky pall of unconsciousness across my sight was replaced by a thudding red one of acute pain. It took me several seconds to recover focus.

She was straddling the waist of the dead man, her left hand coiled into a tight ball that flailed violently against its chest, attempting to shake its grip. No coincidence; Narika was fifty miles away and Tokyo too large. But I was prone to be charitable, so she was free to follow me where she wanted. My mind was still sluggish and the thought ponderously navigating it swirled feverishly as the two grappled. The dead man had wormed a hand up under her chin, pressing the heel of his palm there to force her head back in an attempt to throw her off. His other was occupied about her right wrist, in the hand of which she clenched a revolver – something with a snap-open breech, vintage. In my rattled state, I recall admiring it for its authenticity moments before the creature twisted her hand violently and sent it skittering away.

Her hand, freed from its violent occupant, lashed down to seek a grip on the neck of the rotten antagonist, but before this was possible, his own hand began curling sharp, grimy fingernails against her face in a bid to gouge out her eyes. With a snarl, she slapped the putrid face of the man hard, breaking his grip, before twisting away and disengaging. Slowly, her opponent labored to his feet, his half-degraded arms hanging limp at his sides in a manner that made his squaring off against her that much more sinister.

_Click._

I was pleased with myself – I had recovered enough that my hand didn't shake at all as I leveled the discarded revolver at the centre of this shambling mass of decay. I thumbed back the hammer, and took a moment to appreciate the stunned look on her face. With the state he was in, the best he could manage was a blank look.

It would do.

"Looks like you lost this one", I informed.

I pulled the trigger and suddenly there was a thunderstorm in the alley with us.

* * *

><p>It was fortunate I had no small experience with pistols – the recoil was enormous and the sheer volume that accompanied the round leaving the chamber was deafening. The round entered just underneath his Adam's apple, snapping his head about smartly, with the rest of his body followed in a bundle of flapping limbs and spasms. His body tumbled back into the culvert from which I tried to pull him, and in a surreal moment I had to fight the dramatic urge to lift the gun to my lips and blow across the barrel. It was a beautiful gun, after. A gun like that required some flair.<p>

"Gun!', the girl shrieked at me. Were it not for the note of hysterical urgency in her demand, I might have withheld it as a bartering chip, but with her wide-eyed and strained there was little resisting. I lofted the heavy iron piece towards her just as the thing pulled itself up onto all-fours, his spine arched backwards like a gymnast.

_What the fuck?_

His grinning head was attached by only a few tendons that pulsed and discharged dark, poisonous ichor as it lunged at me.

"Fuck _off_", I heard myself snarl, my teeth gritted in a mixture of rage and terror – this thing _couldn't die._ I wasn't about to let something like that deter me. I hooked my hands underneath the pits of his arms and lifted the ragged monstrosity off of its feet. I wasn't certain what I could do then, but in my adrenaline fueled state I was considering pounding the thing against the ground until it was liquefied, when the revolver released another thunderous bark and the dead man's chest erupted outwards over me, spattering me with foul fluid. I dropped the thrashing thing in shock, and the girl calmly stepped over and shot it twice more in the head, point blank.

It stopped moving.

_Finally._

I gradually grew aware of a searing pain throbbing in my right shoulder, and I glanced aside to find a perfectly cylindrical hole in my jacket, through which a slim rivulet of crimson was running. I examined it with lips pursed in disbelief, before I reached back to feel against the back of my shoulder blade.

There was an exit wound, alright. It felt a mile wide to me.

I found myself on my knees, though I was more surprised than injured – the round had passed cleanly through me. She was staring down at me with a look of expectant curiosity, the revolver naturally tucked away in the leather holster at her hip.

"You shot me", I managed, careful to keep my voice level and patient.

"Sorry about that."

There was a heartbeat of pause as I allowed my eyes to examine the still form of whatever the dead man was. I returned my attention to my yet-animated companion.

"Do I get an explanation?"

A weightier pause followed, before: "…Sorry about that."

"I didn't think so."

She turned and began moving down the alley toward the opening at the far end that expanded into the adjacent street and the unscrupulous district of Kabukicho.

I was fine to watch her go. With a grimy hand I felt for my mp3 player where it was surprisingly still clipped to my belt, and unwound the ear buds. I slipped them on and hit shuffle.

Electric Light Orchestra. _Evil Woman._

_Nice._


	2. Chapter 2: Thriller

**Chapter 2: Thriller**

This still left me in a rough spot, kneeling in the culvert with a bleeding gunshot wound just beneath my right clavicle. The arm beneath it was heavy and wouldn't respond, so I had to push myself back up, my left hand flat against the dirty stone.

Easy enough.

Getting my bag back wasn't, as by then the entire right side of my body was beginning to stiffen and moving even slightly transferred a bolt of pain through my shoulder. In most films, when the protagonist is shot in the leg or shoulder, they can keep rolling. Reality was a harsher mistress. Bending over at the waist, I managed to hook my intact left hand down around the strap of the worn duffle, and hoisted it up against my hip without agitating my shoulder beyond endurance.

The rain had slackened and the sun had fully set during the scuffle in the alley. I left the body behind me and stepped out into the street – which was significantly more populated now the evening was in swing. I was a mess, but the tenet housing I had arranged for was adjacent to the alley – I recognized the scarred neon Kanji from the photograph my contact had sent along. I got a few looks, but it was dark and the ruddy glow of the lights in Kabukicho camouflaged the crimson slowly staining through my jacket. Using my left shoulder, I nudged open the door and entered the cramped foyer.

The bell affixed to the jam chimed lightly, alerting the petite woman behind the desk to my arrival, and she had already lifted her shoulders to begin a habitual address when she paused and considered my state with a look of mild surprise. The light within the foyer was produced by incandescent white bulbs – the blood on my jacket was obvious.

"Omori", she called through the door less exit behind her into the backroom after a moment of consideration.

"What?" a voice – presumably Omori – grunted through the doorway, and I could discern the rustle of paper – probably yen notes – from behind the door.

"The new tenet just arrived."

"I'm counting, Reika. He's an American, not an alien. He even speaks Japanese. Show him his room."

"Omori…"

A low curse sailed through the doorway and I heard the scrape of a chair being pushed across the floor. A lanky man in his mid-to-late twenties ducked in from the back room. He wore his hair in a carefree, unkempt tousle and his chin was peppered with wispy stubble – a style most of the younger Yakuza thought was pretty flashy. He was wearing a suit, but his tie had been discarded and the top three buttons of his shirt were left unfastened to complete the messy flair the _kyodai_ preferred. The stub of a cigarette was pressed in the corner of his lips. He was Tanaka Omori, and he was one of the 'big brothers' that operated the tenements housing for the Yamaguchi-gumi Yakuza clan, renting out places to illegal immigrants like myself. I had lied when I told the immigration officer I would be returning to the states in six days.

"Laz—", Omori began in English, before he gave a soft, questioning mutter as the state I was in registered. He grunted and spoke. "Those _Bosozoku_ shits again. I thought I heard a gunshot." Then in Japanese: "Reika, there's a kit on the clip back there. Grab it."

He thought one of the bands of thugs outside had jumped me. I was inclined to let him.

"I've had to bounce those idiots off our doorstep twice this week. They keep this up, and we'll have the OCCB hanging around." He was worried about the Organized Crime Control Bureau.

"I won't be filing a report", I assured him dryly, wincing as he touched a fingertip to the burned hole in my bloodstained jacket.

"Tch. You'll fit in fine then. Speak English. Your accent is atrocious."

"I keep getting that."

"It's pretty bad. You sentimental about the jacket?"

"Fuck it, I'll buy another", I grunted. I had picked the blazer up at the duty free shopping before the flight out of JFK. I was annoyed to have it ruined, but not as annoyed as I was to have a nickel-sized hole in my shoulder.

"They didn't get away with all your cash, John Wayne?" Omori sounded surprised.

I knew Omori had asked me to speak English because he liked it when my accent slipped. A huge fan of Spaghetti Westerns, he thought I sounded like a ranch-hand. It was one of the first things he told me when I started arranging the apartment a week before flying out. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was raised in Alabama, not Texas. It was all the same to him.

"I had some help", I replied, touching a spot of dark blood that had stained my abdomen when the bullet hit the dead man.

"One of ours?"

"Couldn't say." Reika had by now returned from the back room and was snapping open a kit of medical supplies. She unrolled a strip of gauze and removed some anti-microbial as well as a pair of sharp surgical scissors and a length of catgut from the kit. Omori settled back with his hip pressed against the counter Reika had been manning when I had entered and watched absently. "Do you have any women in Kabukicho tonight?"

"Nee-chan?" _Older sister_ – a female counterpart to Omori. All Yakuza clans were male dominated, but they did have female members. "They're hard to come by, Lazarus. I've only met a handful. If there's one out there tonight, she's on her own time – I haven't heard anything."

Reika had navigated behind me, cutting my jacket sleeve and a portion of the torso away from me with the surgical scissors as she worked. When the bloody strip came away, I heard her give a sharp hiss of reproving surprise. When Omori asked what it was, she put a hand against my side to coax me to turn, giving him a view of the back of my shoulder.

"_Fuck,_ man. What did they shoot you with? A cannon?"

"How bad?" I asked.

I felt Reika's hand on my shoulder blade and clenched my jaw at the pain that touching the injury carried. Her fingers curled about the wound before she withdrew and extended them over my shoulder so I could see. The circle she formed with her forefinger and thumb was slightly bigger than a US quarter.

_Holy shit._

"I can see what I can do with it", Reika said uncertainly in Japanese from behind me, "But he needs to lie down somewhere."

"I was almost done counting. We can use the table back there", Omori stated, and Reika nudged me around the counter and towards the door, while the _kyodai_ preceded us. The back room was slightly smaller than the foyer, and unoccupied. Omori had been counting by himself, and he had been at it for hours it seemed. The table was nearly empty, but the floor was filled with at least a dozen shoe-boxes of neatly counted and stacked yen bills. Yamaguchi-gumi profited many billion dollars yearly, but to see Omori's take put it in plain words. There was only a small stack of unseparated yen denominations on the table, which he scooped up and set aside in the corner.

As Reika began wiping down the table with disinfectant, Omori circled around behind me to get a better look at the exit wound. I thought it was pretty morbid, but I heard him click his tongue appreciatively.

"You're pretty tough to walk yourself away with a hole like that, John Wayne", he remarked.

"I've had worse, Pilgrim." I couldn't recall having had worse, but I heard him laugh under his breath and could tell he liked the name.

"You're a good guy, Laz, so I'll be straight. I've seen forty-five wounds to extremities before. You might lose it."

"Is that so?" I questioned rhetorically as Reika stepped back and indicated the table to me. I sat down and swung my legs over the edge so that I could lie on my stomach.

It ended up hurting like hell.

* * *

><p>I blacked out during the operation – tough as Omori thought I was, I had my limits. When I came too, Reika was just swabbing down the front of my shoulder. She looked worried. Groggily, I rolled my head. Omori was smoking a new cigarette, and using the portion of the table I didn't occupy to count the very last of the bills.<p>

I grunted something incoherent.

"Reika said there was a bunch of shit in there she had to clean out", Omori stated levelly, not looking up from his counting. He finished up and looked up at me. "I have a stock of hydrocodone here if you wanted to buy some."

"Just enough for tonight." I didn't need an addiction on top of my worries.

"Smart man."

"How about a gun?" I asked, using my left hand to push myself up into a seated slouch. My right arm was still too stiff to move. "Can you get me one of those?"

"Cowboy, I can get you a howitzer if you wanted one."

"Just a handgun. A large caliber revolver, preferably. Nothing too obvious"

"I have an associate who wants to shift a MP-443." A Russian military issue pistol. "It's not hot. He just wants to offload it."

"I can't see myself in a situation where I'd need seventeen rounds in the magazine", I lied dourly. After seeing what I had earlier, I'd take a machine gun variant of the G36 – 100rounds in the magazine – if I thought I could hide it on me. The MP-443 would do though.

"You never know." Omori lifted his chin at my shoulder indicatively. I tried lifting it, but the lance of pain this led to dissuaded me from pushing my luck.

"Alright."

"You have the fabric for it?" Looked like Omori had been watching western crime dramas in addition to the Westerns.

"I'm paying premium for the room upstairs, Pilgrim", I reminded.

He just laughed and went to go get the pills.

* * *

><p>Reika showed me the way to my room. After she had closed the door in her wake, I set my duffle down beside me and discarded the tattered ruins of my windbreaker and the bloodstained ruin of the shirt I had been wearing underneath it. With my left hand, I tossed the packet containing the two pills Omori had sold me towards the bed. Squatting, I rummaged for the bottle in my bag – the last dregs of the water I had bought on my way out of the airport. I took a moment to look around the apartment.<p>

I was surprised by its class. I had figured the pictures Reika had sent me at my request had been strategically taken, but the room measured up well in reality. I was beginning to suspect that Omori had cut me a deal just to get an American accent into the building. People are strange from time to time.

It was only one room with a side kitchen, but the room itself was quite large and the kitchen was stocked with a refrigerator, a stove, and a dishwasher in addition to the sink - everything I would need. There were two doors – one to the bathroom, which came equipped with a shower, and another to a modest closet. There was a king-sized bed – no sheets – a few bedside tables and a larger chest of drawers against the wall adjacent to the bed. A miracle for what I was paying for it. It was unfurnished aside, but I had money for that.

The window in the wall opposite the door was what had my interest now. I crossed the room and pressed my forehead against the glass in order to peer down. As I had thought, it looked out into the culvert-alley, far below.

The body was no longer there. I wasn't much surprised.

Crossing back to the bed, I retrieved the baggie of painkillers and popped both into my mouth. I bit once to break each into manageable chunks before I washed them down with the remainder of my stale water. I dropped carefully onto the naked bed and waited for the drugs to dull my shoulder.

When they did, I dreamed.

* * *

><p><em>"He was followed all the way from Narita?" A male tenor.<em>

_"I called our contact at the terminal. He was seated beside the Shikabane on the flight." Female. Alto._

_"I've never heard of someone being stalked so diligently over such a distance"_

_"We're fortunate our contact in New York caught sight of it, then. We're stretched thin as it is without foreign Shikabane entering Japan unnoticed."_

_"I wouldn't call what happened today fortunate." A new voice. Bass._

_"Gon-Dai Sojo?" The woman again._

_"You said the bullet passed from the Shikabane into the American's shoulder?" Bass was speaking to someone else, who remained silent. A nod was offered. A very pregnant pause followed._

_"What is the significance of that, Gon-Dai Sojo?" The reedy male tenor._

_"Do you recall the report from Ikai seven months ago? Regarding the clinic there." Bass' reply came weightily._

_"But those weren't the same conditions. What happened at the clinic was done deliberately." Alto's protest came after a moment or two's consideration._

_"Deliberate or not, the events today parallel those conditions exactly." Bass' voice had a stern edge to it now. An admonished silence followed before tenor spoke again._

_"Should we inform the Dai Sojo?"_

_"Dai Sojo has been preoccupied. After the disaster at Ikai and the relocation of the Head Temple to Tokyo, as well as the loss of my predecessor, the structure is full of holes. He barely has time to sleep as it is. We can't come to him with something trivial. We'll handle it ourselves." Bass shifted in the resultant silence before he turned to the silent fourth member. "Put him under observation. He needs an explanation anyway. Without on, he's likely to speak openly about what occurred. If you notice any changes, follow through on your duties."_

_The silence stretched on for a long while before the reply came: "I can handle it."_

_Mezzo-soprano._

_The girl._

* * *

><p>I woke late in the next morning, in pain. Not in my shoulder, but deeper, down in my stomach. I had a strange fog in my head. I knew I had dreamed, but I could not remember what it was about. I realized with a lurch of disappointment in myself that I had taken the hydrocodone without anything in my stomach. Maybe I was bleeding internally. Then I reconsidered. I hadn't eaten anything in almost thirty hours – with my putrid companion on the flight, I wasn't able to stomach any of the already unpalatable airline fare. I remembered the street front across the alley that had been so inviting last night. I made to roll out of bed, wondering if they did lunch this early.<p>

_Itadakimasu._

Reika was manning her post when I dismounted the stairs, my appetite propelling me. She looked bored, and was slowly turning the pages of a magazine on the counter before her, her mouth diligently working a piece of what I guessed was gum. She glanced up as I arrived in the foyer.

"_Ohayo gozaimasu. _Shoulder?"

"Numb. Hydrocodone must still be kicking. Omori has some strong stuff. I'm going to eat – I'm dying. _Ittekimasu!_"

She just released a silent laugh under her breath and turned her attention back to what she was reading.

I crossed the gully that opened at the front of the alley without looking down within it – I knew there was nothing there to be seen. With considerable despair I found my objective wasn't open to serve lunch, so I resolved to find a place to eat. I had the foresight of bringing my mp3 player with me as I left my room, and I was in the process of fumbling with my good hand for the ear buds when I noticed I was no longer alone.

The streets of Kabukicho were well populated today, but the way she slowed her pace as she arrived at my elbow to match mine suggested she was walking with me. I glanced aside habitually. It was her alright. She didn't look up, so I decided to listen to the more insistent voice of my stomach. It took a bit of looking, but I found a café on the outskirts of Kabukicho. It was called the Albatross. I held the door for my silent escort and she entered without a word.

We were the only diners at this hour, but the waitress on hand seemed happy enough to serve us and was immediately at our table. I ordered a soft drink – my mouth was dry from the hydrocodone and I needed it badly – and my companion declined. It wasn't until after the waitress had returned with my drink and left us with the menus that the girl finally spoke.

"Shoulder?"

"Still attached", I replied, as I took a glance at the menu and decided to buy most of it. I lifted the fogged glass of my drink to my lips and sipped, eyeing her expectantly over the rim.

"Are you ready for that explanation?"

I lowered my drink back to the surface of the table between us and moistened my lips before I replied. "I am awash with anticipation."

Her lips twisted doubtfully. She seemed on edge, as if she wasn't certain of where she stood. _Maybe she thinks I'm upset about her shooting me. Imagine that._

"They're called Shikabane. Most people don't know about them. Most people don't survive them to know about them."

"Is that so?"

"It is." She paused before going on. "Most mythological stories that involve malicious spirits or beings are twisted misrepresentations of Shikabane. They're not friendly to humanity."

"I gathered as much. Why are you telling me this, again?" I arched a brow at her.

"Not explaining it was reconsidered. You need to not talk about what you saw. It's easier for you to agree to that if you understand the situation."

"Alright." I was beginning to wonder if our waitress had slipped and was unconscious in the kitchen. Patiently, I rolled my good hand in the air to coax the girl across from me on.

"A Shikabane is what results when a person dies with intense regrets or emotions that tie them back to this life on Earth. Unable to move on, they remain here as abominations that fixate and obsess over their regrets. A Shikabane is almost certain to kill any human it crosses in this state."

"Or at least attempt to", I pointed out wryly.

"Yes."

"And you're concerned people wouldn't handle knowing this very gracefully?"

"That's right." My question had been rhetorical, but she answered it anyway. She was staring at me now, her gaze slightly hostile, as if she expected me to suddenly lunge across the small table at her. It was far from comfortable company.

"I'm Lazarus." It was something to fill the void with, and she didn't even blink as the conversation turned to names, though an eyebrow did slowly creep upwards as she produced a skeptical expression.

"I know you're a foreigner, but that's not a normal name."

"No. I used to box in college. When I was outmatched, I would get knocked down again and again. No matter how obvious it was that I was going to lose, I'd get up again. My friends said it was like…"

"Lazarus rising from the dead", she finished flatly.

"You didn't seem like the scripture sort."

She seemed on the verge of replying, when the door to the street outside opened and two men stepped in. They were dressed in robes cinched about their waists, and sandals. Monks. They approached our table and stood on either of her flanks. She adopted a perfectly annoyed expression at their arrival.

"Friends of yours?" I asked. Maybe she was the scripture sort after all. Our waitress was on her way back to the table, but paused as she considered the two men standing over us. Her hands clasped before her waist and she began to wring them nervously. _She thinks they're Yakuza enforcers._

"In a way", she replied, before turning her attention up onto the monks. "What are you doing here?"

The one to her right flashed me an honestly genial smile that failed to drop my guard before he answered her. "The Dai-Sojo got word of what was going on here and sent us to recover you and this young man. He wants him brought to the sect."

"Is that so?" she stated dryly, before looking across the table to me. I was sucking greedily on my drink. If I wasn't going to get to eat, I'd be damned if I wasn't going to dampen the cottonmouth. As I placed my empty glass back onto the table, I appraised the two monks. They were built out of paving slabs – all muscle with smiling faces pasted on top. I wondered vaguely if they were the sort of monks who trained in martial arts. I looked to the waitress with a resigned smile.

"Cheque please."

* * *

><p>The black sedan the monks ushered us into smoothly pulled away from the curb outside of the Albatross, and merged with the perpetual traffic that occupied the crowded streets of Tokyo. Our escort manning the wheel guided the car through Kabukicho and out onto <em>Yasukuni Dori<em>, heading east. Propping my elbow against the door and my chin in my hand, I watched the Ministry of Defense complex pass by on the left.

"You seem surprisingly calm." The girl was seated with the second monk between us. Her arms were folded across her chest and she spoke without turning her head to look towards me.

"I can't control my circumstances – only my reaction to them."

"A philosopher."

"I minored in social philosophy", I remarks idly, lifting my free hand to examine my nails pointedly.

The brother between us smiled to himself and said nothing, while his twin in the driver's seat leaned hard on the horn as he was cut off, and swore. I was guessing a vow of pacifism wasn't in this particular sect's repertoire. Slowly, we cut through the bogged traffic of central Tokyo as we passed west to east towards Asakusa – one of Tokyo's temple districts. The Kaminarimon – the front gate of the legendary _Senso-ji_ temple – passed by, along with the swarms of tourists boiling around it and Nakamise-Dori beyond.

The sedan rolled to a stop at the curb a short while later, settling down before a more modest gate preceding another Shinto temple – much smaller than the famous _Senso-ji._ Prompted by the monk at my side, I pulled the handle of the door and stepped out onto the pedestrian walk before the gate, preceding both the monk and the girl, who stretched her arms casually over her head as she exited the vehicle, only closing the door behind herself when she was done. On cue, the sedan pulled away and rejoined the procession of traffic advancing down the street.

"Please", our remaining escort invited, waving a muscular hand towards the gate. It was painted in the traditional red, black and white of temple gateways, and had some modest gold Kanji emblazed in places. Unlike its larger brother, the Kaminarimon, it bore no lantern expressing the name of the temple beyond. I stepped through as prompted and entered the temple grounds – a straight pathway led from the gate to the main pagoda beyond, and swaths of healthy green turf expanded on either side, punctuated by cherry trees that still bore the spare blossom of spring. It was a very typical scene for a Buddhist temple, in my understanding – which was limited. There were a few robed monks sitting upon the grass in meditation or conversation, but I was surprised at the lack of tourists poking about. They were usually endemic (or perhaps invasive was more correct) within temples, especially in Asakusa.

There were a number of secondary structures on the Temple grounds, each playing host to a branch of the central pagoda pathway, the white stones marching in straight lines to the steps of each building. Even so, I assumed the pagoda was our destination, and moved towards it. The lack of protest from my guide confirmed my suspicions, but the size of the Temple complex was deceptive. The central promenade was much longer than I had realized, and by the time we reached the pagoda, I realized with considerable awe that it was five stories, and that the area that the temple encompassed was massive. It was approximately the same size as the _Senso-ji_ down the street. I wondered why I hadn't known of it before and again why there were no tourists loitering.

Our trio reached the base of the structure and began ascending the low steps that rose to the entrance. As I alighted onto the verandah, the Buddhist beside me stepped past to push the sliding door open before me. I stepped in, followed by the girl and the monk, who slid the door shut behind him.

"This way." He turned and began moving down the hallway, flanked on each side by the traditional Shoji screens. In passing, I made out a central courtyard and more cherry blossoms surrounding a spring through a gap in the screens. Our guide moved with purpose, the raised platforms of his sandals clicking on the sanded wood floor of the pagoda. He neared another of the Shoji doors, and slid it open before stepping aside.

"This is as far as I go", he explained to me, before he looked beyond my shoulder to the girl.

"Me too." Her voice was flat and her statement delivered as if this had been determined at an earlier place and time. I glanced between the too for a moment or so before I gave a lift of my undamaged shoulder and made to move into the room beyond, leaving my companions to guard the door behind me.

* * *

><p>"This session cannot be concluded until we have decided. We've been delaying this for too long. There are simply no more candidates for the positions. We have to select from what tools are at our disposal."<p>

I found myself in a wide, square chamber, the roof arching high overhead. Iron dish-shaped braziers were set within the walls, the oil within each set alight. Thick, milky tendrils of vapour wafted from each and congealed into a sweet haze that drifted about the room. The ceramic tile I was standing on extended out before me in what I could best describe as a catwalk that ended in a rectangular platform. On all sides of the structure, the water of a tranquil pool met the tile passively. Out within the glassy expanse of the water, six square islands ringed the central platform. Wooden crossbeams and struts formed simple cubic frames on each, and four of the six housed elaborately dressed individuals, each seated upon plush cushions. They continued to debate as I moved down the walkway towards the platform. I wondered how they managed to get out to their islands without getting wet.

"The position of Sojo is no laughing matter. If we are not completely sure, then perhaps we should leave them vacated. The council is still balanced." The baritone voice issuing the comment originated from a barrel-chested man seated at the island at the extreme left of the arch. His beard was neat and trim – a pointed triangle that extended from his chin and arched up over his upper lip. He reminded me of the _Shogun_ of feudal Japanese history.

"I understand, Sougen. But lacking two Sojo, there are dozens of Gon-Sojo and many more soldiers that lack cohesive support. We cannot afford to allow this weakness in our structure – certainly not now. That we lost two Sojo – a full third of our number – simultaneously at Ikai is representative enough of the peril we face. You yourself were lucky to survive long enough to reforge your _En _with Kamika_._" The man who addressed the one called Sougen was a small man, whose robes seemed a size too large for him. They folded up around his waist and flowed over his bent knees in waves. Despite his appearance, he spoke with as much authority as Sougen.

"This is true." Sougen appeared troubled, before he inclined his head until his beard touched his chest. His eyes closed as he spoke. "I stand by Aragami Rika as my suggestion. In exchange, I support your elevation of Inspector Honda to the sixth seat of this council. One from each bloodline and the balance is maintained."

A murmur of general agreement floated over the pond from the four occupied islands as I arrived at the platform, the heavy soles of my work boots echoing against the ceramic.

"Then it is decided?" A familiar deep bass voice that I could not place issued from farther beyond the six islands. The man who spoke was seated cross legged upon the two tiered structure that loomed over the islands and the platform, situated like a mountain breaking the surface of the pond, deeper within the chamber. Though he sat on the lower of the two levels, he was still several feet elevated over those who resided on the six islands. He was an older man, and his beard was longer than Sougen's – almost a Fu Manchu – and stark white. He wore navy blue robes with trailing sleeves, and upon his head a square, ritual headpiece rested. Unlike the others, he was not contained within a frame.

"_Hai_, Gon-dai Sojo", the islanders chorused together reverently, before the small man seated upon the island opposite to Sougen twisted his lips into a smile.

"To be truthful, it wasn't Rika I was concerned about. It's her companion." Judging by his smile and the rumble of muted laughter that followed, this was in good humour.

"Despite her capricious nature, Saki will obey Rika unerringly. If we can trust Gon-Sojo Aragami, then we can trust Saki", Sougen stated, his whiskered lips twisted up into a satisfied smile.

"It is done." The one they called Gon-dai Sojo spoke with finality. I was musing if they would mind terribly if I sat on the tiled platform when he turned his attention to me. "We have a final matter to discuss." Immediately, it was as if I was finally visible. All islands turned their attention towards me. "You are the _wakamono_ who was attacked by the Shikbane in Kabuchiko last night?"

"I am." I gave my hands something to do by clasping them behind the small of my back – something I was surprised to find did not aggravate my shoulder.

"Show us the injury", the Gon-dai Sojo commanded, leaning forwards, his hands on his folded knees. Those occupying the archipelago mirrored his gesture, like a single organism moving in sync. I blinked, and had begun to unbutton the collared shirt I was wearing when a new voice spoke.

"Wait." The single word was uttered in a soft, silky tenor from the second tier of the structure this 'Gon-dai Sojo' was occupying. The highest point in the room, this final platform had a frame of its own, like the islands. Unlike theirs, however, an ethereal curtain had been draped from it, so that the man who spoke from behind it was sheltered from view. I recalled that the Japanese Emperors used to sit behind similar screens – I hadn't realized such things were still in practice.

"Dai-Sojo?" The Gon-dai Sojo had bowed his head – again mirrored by his subordinates – in the wake of the single word offered by the silhouette hidden on the top of the dais, but now she spoke in question.

"It was been some time since I counted myself a young man, Hayato", came the reply, delivered in a smooth, dreamlike inflection. "But if I recall, young men have a low tolerance for being led around blindly by their noses. I imagine our guest is nearing his limit."

"_Hai,_ Dai-Sojo."

"Illuminate him."

"_Hai._"

As grateful as I was to this 'Dai-Sojo', my six years in the notoriously beauracratic collegiate system had rewarded me with a high tolerance for the Gon-dai Sojo's brand of bullshit. I wasn't about to undermine the assistance he was offering, though. I wasn't sure how keen I was to be 'illuminated', all the same. The Dai-Sojo made it sound like a violent action, like 'shoot him'.

"How much have you been told?" The Gon-dai Sojo brought me back to the present.

"Some. I understand the term Shikabane in your question, at least. Not enough to understand your titles."

"That's fine. Our titles are not what we need to discuss. You were shot during a struggle with one of the defiled – the Shikabane as we called them. Am I right to say that the bullet first passed through the corpse before it struck you?"

"You are right to say that."

"And am I right to say that there would have been a transfer of tissue, then, from the defiled into the wound as the bullet entered?"

I remembered Omori telling me that Reika had swabbed out some unidentified matter from my injury. I supposed it was bits of Shikabane blown in there when I caught the round in my shoulder. "You are right to say that. I had the wound cleared almost immediately."

There was a low murmur of dark interest amongst the islanders – the Sojo as they called themselves. Sougen did not join in, for he had turned aside and was rifling through a stack of documents.

"Sojo Takamine?" The Gon-dai Sojo had noticed.

"It was one of mine that uncovered the clinic in Ikai. Hoshimura Makina. When I learned of this development, I had my Gon-Sojo recover it from the files…"

"Ah, go on then."

"Late last November, Hoshimura Makina, coordinated by the late Tagami Keisei traced a series of Shikabane related deaths back to a clinic in Ikai. These incidents were remarkable as the corpse in question would take a single victim, and then disappear. Despite repeated incidents, our teams were never able to locate the defiled or discern its avenue of escape."

He turned a page in the document and read a bit more in silence before he resumed speaking. "At the clinic, Makina uncovered that a physician there had restrained a Shikabane and was using extractions of its bodily fluids to inoculate test subjects with injections of defiled flesh." I felt my stomach lurch with understanding. Sougen looked over the top of the document at me before he resumed. "The test subjects, affected by the corrupted flesh, were temporarily transformed into pseudo-Shikabane themselves for a short time, until death as a result of organ failure. Hence the singular victims and the failure to locate the responsible Shikabane. They were one and the same."

A pause followed his debriefing, before the Gon-dai Sojo spoke again. "Show us your injury, please." His tone was full of weight, but no longer commanding. He was simply expectant. I reached my left hand across my chest and pushed the shoulder of my shirt aside. With numb fingers I began unwinding the gauze that Reika had diligently applied to my shoulder, looping it around my hand as I did so. It unraveled slowly until it fell away entirely.

The wound was gone. The skin on my shoulder was unblemished and unbroken, wholly intact without the slightest sign of the heavy caliber round that had blown it open. The Gon-dai Sojo made a noise of distaste in the back of his throat. Sougen closed his eyes, his report still in hand, and released a low sigh. His contemporaries released speculative murmurs from their respective islands as I prodded at where I had been shot.

"Shikabane have the inherent ability to regenerate severe injuries rapidly", the Gon-dai Sojo explained dispassionately. _Well it sure as shit wasn't the hydrocodone, boss._

"But he's clearly not a Shikabane. Or even a temporary one, as the clinic victims were." Sougen had opened his eyes and with them came his pointed remark. "He's still human."

"But he's exhibiting symptoms indicative of the defiled. He's in the process of turning." One of the other Sojos – a middle-aged woman, with waist-length hair and slim, severe spectacles spoke.

"How long did it take the clinic victims to turn?" the Gon-dai Sojo asked Sougen, who flipped through a few more pages of his report, before releasing an uncertain, discontented rumble.

"Unknown. We never witnessed the physician inoculate anyone, and he was assassinated by an unknown party shortly after Makina overpowered him. His plot was uncovered when he attempted to inject Makina herself. Because of her condition, it had no effect, so we have very little information on the actual transformation process. Based on the frequency of sightings of the pseudo-Shikabane leading up to Makina's investigation of the clinic, however, I would say it was rapid. Three to twenty-four hours for total transformation."

"Can we reverse it? With a purification chamber perhaps?" the small Sojo across from Sougen queried, his hands folded underneath the fabric of his robe.

"His condition may be similar to those that the chamber is designed to remove, but it is unique. We've never dealt with anything resembling this before. There's no way to predict how the purification chamber would affect him or the transformation", Sougen replied levelly.

"It's a moot point." The Gon-dai Sojo frowned from his perch overlooking his subordinates. "The purification chamber at Ikai was destroyed. We haven't finished constructing the Tokyo chamber yet."

A heavy silence settled that no one seemed willing to break. By the dark expression universal on all of the faces visible to me, I could tell their thoughts were grim. _They want to kill me before I turn._

"So that's it?" I asked, dully.

Even the Gon-dai Sojo had adopted Sougen's discomforted expression, and there was no response to my inquiry for a long time.

"I see" the Dai-Sojo spoke from behind his veil, and all faces turned upwards towards the peak of the mount he occupied. A heartbeat passed before he spoke again. "I cannot think of any moral force that would punish a crime before it was committed. Least of all with death."

Their faces turned back towards me to regard how I stood, my hands balled at my sides to keep them still.

"Place him under observation. It's been a little over half a day since these events. If he turns, we will be on hand to take control of the situation. If he does not turn, I think we all will be grateful we gave him the benefit of the doubt."

"_Hai_, Dai-Sojo", we chorused.

Myself included.

* * *

><p>"Who will we set to watch him? One of the contracted pairs?" The small Sojo.<p>

"I think not", the Gon-Dai Sojo replied. "Natsumi has been trailing him for most of the day. She's also partially responsible." This last part was delivered with some sternness. He turned his gaze back onto me in absent consideration. "Besides, as a Shikabane Hime, she's the best to keep with him in case the worst comes to pass."

_A what?_

My bemusement apparently registered, for the Gon-dai Sojo produced a wry smile. "Somehow I am not wholly surprised. It seems Natsumi failed to get around to describing what she was." He laughed grimly under his breath.

Sougen took up the mantle of explanation.

"She's a Shikabane herself, American. She's dead."

_That was going to take some explaining._

"Shikabane are not natural. They cannot be killed by human hands. They can be killed by the will of the Gods, or they can be killed by other Shikabane. Nothing else has any effect", Sougen was saying. _I guess that's why shooting him in the throat didn't work._ As if to prove me wrong, Sougen continued: "And even then they're remarkably hard to kill. Even another Shikabane must destroy their brain or completely shred their form beyond the capacity of their natural regeneration to heal in order for them to truly be killed."

"I see." I nodded my head patiently, still wholly unsatisfied.

"Because of this, we are required to seek… alternative methods of controlling the Shikabane population. The oldest traditions of our sect – the Kougon Sect – involve binding Shikabane of very specific conditions to our cause. When the Shikabane is newly formed, if one of our monks can be on hand in short order, we have the opportunity to contact the monk to that specific Shikabane."

"The ritual is a Kougon sect tradition, but it's not well understood, even by our scholars." The Gon-Dai Sojo was speaking now. "Regardless, the process permits the Shikabane to retain recollection of their humanity and prevents them from being driven wholly by the regret that prevented them from moving on. In addition, the monk that performs the ritual serves as a reservoir and conduit of life energy that sustains the contracted Shikabane – meaning they no longer have to kill to survive, as 'wild' Shikabane do."

"In exchange for this, the Shikabane agree that, with the assistance of their contracted monk, they will hunt and kill unbound Shikabane. It is the only consistent weapon we have that can be used to combat them", Sougen finished. "Natusmi has been bound to the Kougon Sect."

I nodded my head slowly to indicate my understanding, my lips still fixed in their speculative purse – prompting Sougen to speak again: "You're taking this with considerable poise." His voice was level.

"Dead or alive are terms we invented to describe states – states whose conditions are entirely defined by use. Something so abstract is personal – everyone has their own understanding of these things."

"Poignant", the Gon-Dai Sojo laughed darkly, allowing himself an amused expression at my comment.

"I minored in Philosophy." I felt my lips twisting into a wolfish smile – my first since entering the chamber.

"Is that so?" The Gon-Dai Sojo's amusement was growing. "You fit right into a temple then."

"People continue to tell me I fit in", I remarked dryly, "which is why I am surprised to find myself both shot and abducted with only a few hours to sleep in between." The Gon-Dai Sojo just shook his head and said nothing. Another silence extended throughout the chamber. I used it to ask a question that had occurred to me a short while before.

"If you can contract Shikabane to help you, can you keep a monk near to me in order to bind me if… things go wrong?" I arched my brows.

"No", the small Sojo interjected "We call Shikabane that we have bounce Shikabane _Hime_ for a reason. The ritual was designed by the founder of our sect – he used it to bind his daughter to himself. Because the ritual was specifically invoked, we can only perform it on women of the approximate age of the original Shikabane Hime – early adulthood. Because the ritual forms the bond, we won't be able to bind someone who doesn't fit—"He suddenly sputtered to a halt. He looked chagrinned.

The atmosphere in the chamber had changed. I glanced aside to find Sougen was allowing himself a private smile, which he had ducked his head to hide. The Gon-Dai Sojo merely looked angry. I had no idea what had occurred until the Dai-Sojo finally spoke again from his place behind his veil.

"The truth of the matter is that recent events have called into question just how the bond between a Shikabane Hime and her contracted monk functions, and where the true origins lay." His silhouette shifted slightly. "However, regardless of these uncertainties, you cannot be bound. If you should metamorphosis into a Shikabane, there is nothing that any one of us can do for you."

He allowed a long pause for emphasis.

"So don't."

* * *

><p>I was back outside of the council chamber, the Shoji door shut in my wake. The dead girl had waited, but the monk had left. She met my look firmly as I emerged – I guessed that they had already informed her of her new task while I had been in the chamber. I don't know how. I started to walk, moving back down the hardwood hallway towards the entrance of the pagoda. Dismounting the steps to the stone pathway that cut through the Kougon Temple complex, I began moving towards the gateway that opened up back to the more comprehendible secular world of Tokyo. My shadow followed me every step in silence.<p>

When I arrived on the footpath that bordered the street, I glanced about Asakusa district, feeling lost. I wasn't particularly sure where to go or what to do from here. Natsumi was at my elbow, but she was a silent statue. I felt the sword of Damocles hanging over me, and resolved not to think about it. To distract myself, and fill the silence, I began to whistle a soft tune to myself.

When I finally glanced aside to my companion, I found her staring fixedly at me, and I couldn't help my instinctive response.

"What?" I asked.

"I can't whistle", she replied. I was taken aback – I didn't consider my response before it was already out of my mouth.

"Because you don't breathe?" I was curious.

"Idiot. Of course I breathe." Her response was short and hot, and the corners of her eyes narrowed. "I can talk can't I? I get tired and hungry too, if you were wondering. I just never learned how to whistle." Her voice was growing increasingly scathing. She wasn't too pleased with her assignment.

Silence again. I considered the small figure of the Shikabane Hime before me, and she occupied herself with a look of distaste – and this one was for me and me alone. It occurred to me that she had another bullet for me if I exhibited the slightest undead behavior.

I wasn't brave enough to whistle again, so I reached down for my ear buds and inserted them, flicking my finger against the shuffle button.

Michael Jackson. _Thriller._

"Oh fuck off", I grunted.

"Excuse me?" Natsumi's voice was terse.

"N… eh…" I managed. _No coming back from that one._ "Wait!" I felt a surge of enthusiasm.

"What?"

"You said you were hungry!"

"…What?"


	3. Chapter 3: Cutting them Down

**Chapter 3: Cutting them Down**

The area around the _Senso-ji _temple deliberately catered to tourists, and therefore was packed to bursting with small diners and cafes specializing in 'traditional' Japanese cuisine. My hunger was maddening by now – the temporary distraction of the council chamber had only delayed the inevitable pangs. It had been almost two days now since I had anything to eat. I picked the very first diner I came across, my would-be assassin glued to my hip. She was still sulking as I ordered the better part of the entire menu, but she did request a meal of tempura-something when her turn came.

I suspected she was only eating out of spite – just to prove to me that she was capable of it. She sipped delicately on her bowl of Miso soup that preceded the food, while I managed to restrain myself from tipping mine back and drinking it like a shot. But only barely. I licked the broth from my lips and set my bowl down. It was just enough to take the edge off of my hunger – in some ways it enhanced the reality of my hunger by reminding my stomach of the existence of food. I decided I would distract myself with my potential executioner until my noodles arrived.

"The Gon-dai Sojo seemed surprised that you hadn't told me about your condition."

"Is that so?" She was toying with her soup now, no longer drinking it. It served as a place for her to put her eyes instead of on me. "What condition is that?"

"You're a Shikabane Hime."

"That's not my condition. What you mean to say is that I'm dead."

"Don't be ridiculous." My reply was deliberately offhanded. I wasn't trying to bait her, but it suited my opinion better to be blasé about the situation. I reached for my glass of water as Natsumi lifted her eyes from her bowl to fix me with an agitated stare.

"The last thing my being dead is, is ridiculous."

"You're not dead."

She hadn't expected that – I could see it straight away as she blinked and allowed her jaw to go slightly slack. It lasted for barely a moment before she straightened her back and lifted her chin in a slightly haughty gesture. "I am", she affirmed. _Stubborn._

"I think that's what you've been told – not what you believe."

"Are you suggesting Shikabane are _alive?" _There was a note of temper in her voice now, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Maybe." I raised and lowered a single shoulder in a noncommittal manner, though when she opened her mouth to protest hotly, I lifted my hand slightly and spoke again. "Just because something is alive doesn't mean it ought to be. We have a saying where I come from for when someone is too dangerous or has otherwise justified an execution. 'He needed killing.' From what I can tell, these... _wild_ Shikabane need killing, regardless as to if they're truly alive to begin with."

She was silent now.

"How could you be dead? You're sitting at a table in a diner on the Nakamise-Dori about to eat some battered… shrimp? Sitting there thinking your thoughts and feeling your feelings", I stated calmly.

"How could you know if I felt anything?" She was trying to take back the initiative – to go on the offensive and stop this line of thought.

"Judging by your expression, you're capable of feeling annoyance. That's a feeling. I assume you can do the rest."

"Why do you care?"

I stretched my arms over my head and interlocked my fingers together, my spine arching. "Did I mention I minored in philosophy?"

"Can we talk about something else, if it's all the same?" Testily. I'd figured I'd pushed about as far as I was going to get in one sitting. Her request was aided by the fact that our food arrived. Four plates were set down before me, while Natsumi cleared her half-finished Miso to make room for her modest meal.

"Alright", I agreed. "We can talk about how long you intend to follow me around for." My food came with a pair of chopsticks, but with Asakusa so flooded with tourists year round, a fork was habitually provided as well. I was deft with a pair of sticks, but figured I'd get more mileage out of the fork, and I was hungry enough to shirk my cultural duty as a visitor to Japan. I began shoveling noodles and packing them away.

Natsumi didn't respond at first; instead she straightened up in order to swing the bag she carried around to her front. Reaching within, she withdrew her phone – an iPhone 4G, no less. Well, well – for a self proclaimed dead girl, she sure was keeping up with the times.

She slid her finger across the screen to unlock it and spoke in a businesslike manner. "It's three in the afternoon now. You were shot—"

"You shot me", I corrected, speaking through a mouthful of noodles.

"_You were shot_ at seven fifteen in the evening yesterday. I was told they agreed on twenty-four hours." After I nodded affirmatively, she went on, locking her phone and tucking it back in her bag – a motion I found to be performed with an oddly feminine adjustment of her bag. _She's not even a little bit dead._ "So I'll watch you until seven fifteen tonight. After that, you're not my concern anymore."

"I'll be sad to see you go."

"Sure."

"…But I'd like to watch you walk away." She cocked a brow at that. I don't think she understood.

I concentrated on my meal, and we ate the remainder in silence. When the time came, I paid both cheques – and judging how she didn't bother to reach for her bag, she was expecting me to do so. Payment for her trouble, I guessed.

Stepping back out onto Nakamise-Dori, we navigated through the Kaminarimon and back out onto the main street, where the compact cars of Tokyo purred past slowly. I raised a hand and waited for a cab. "I need to do some shopping."

"That's fine." Natsumi was picking her nails. Another feminine gesture I found bizarre, 'dead' as she was. A taxi coasted to a stop before us and I opened the door for her. She stepped in without thanking me.

_The nerve of some people._

* * *

><p>Asakusa has plenty of storefronts, but they were arrayed mainly to sell trinkets to the tourists coming to visit the temples. I needed things they wouldn't stock for the tourists. The majority of guests in Japan could expect their hotels to have sheets on the beds, for example. I told the cab driver to take us south to Ginza shopping district. Pricey, but with the money I had in my account, I could treat myself, at least initially. Natsumi wasn't feeling talkative – no surprise – so I contented myself to staring out the window at the passing skyscrapers, watching the mid-afternoon sun flickering as it hid and emerged from behind them. Distracted as I was, I couldn't disregard the growing sense of tension in the cab. As the taxi pulled up to the curb outside one of Ginza's fleet of department stores, she finally broke her silence.<p>

"You're a strange guy." She didn't wait for a reaction after her matter-of-fact statement, choosing instead to primly pump the handle of the door and step out, leaving me to pay the driver. He gave me a bit of a wry smile.

"Looks like you're in Ginza to make up for something, eh?"

"_Oniisan_, there isn't a rock to be bought on Earth big enough to win that one over." I stepped out of the cab and I saw him pull away – waving a hand amicably back out his window as he went. Natsumi was waiting on the curb, and I stepped past her for the department store. If she wanted to play ice-queen today, then bully for her. I had sheets to buy and only a few hours before I turned into a slavering monstrosity to do it in.

As I wandered around the department store, buying socks and all the other things I had chosen not to bring with me, I found myself relaxing. It was such a normal thing to do – the normalcy was soothing. I knew to all the other shoppers, I was just another guy coerced into buying necessities by his girlfriend.

His silent, sullen, undead girlfriend.

Natsumi was doing her best to look disinterested, but I gradually noticed she was eyeing my selections with muted interest. I guess you can tell a lot about a person by their choice of sheets, socks, and underwear. I don't know what my cream sheets and plaid boxers were telling her, but I hoped it was poignant. After a while, she drifted off on her own while I picked out shaving cream and a razor. I found her considering a black denim skirt in the women's department.

"Does the sect pay you?" I was curious again.

"No. My contracted monk gives me a stipend though." She had relaxed considerably – I hadn't heard her mention her partner before now. "This is way too pricey for me though. Ginza? You must be at a loss for what to do with your money to shop here." She cocked a brow at my frown, but didn't pursue the topic. "Are you finished?"

"One more thing." I moved away again and she followed after me as I navigated to the electronics department. Omori had told me there was cable in the apartments, and I would be damned if I didn't take advantage. As Natsumi shook her head behind me, I proceeded to buy the largest LCD high definition display television I could envision myself balancing on the chest of drawers in my room. The salesmen, who I supposed was working on commission by his smile, offered to have someone help me with it. But as a young man in the company of a young (if despondent) female companion, I was obligated by my sex to carry it myself. The lightness of the case surprised me – the TV inside it was fifty-one inches diagonal.

Maybe the boxing conditioning was holding up.

Maybe it was having someone to impress.

Maybe LCD TV technology was getting more composite and lightweight.

Or maybe I was turning into something horrific.

* * *

><p>The taxi dropped us off outside of my apartment, and the driver helped me navigate the TV out of the trunk while Natsumi guarded the bag of sheets, socks, and other randoms on the sidewalk. I had just tipped him and seen him off when Natsumi's phone began to chime. She pulled it out, glanced at it, and then showed me its face. 7:15 was blinking rhythmically at me. The final buzzer.<p>

"Looks like I beat the clock."

"Congratulations", she replied, and for the first time since we left the Kougon Sect temple, she sounded honestly sincere in the sentiment. "I know this will be hard, but try to forget everything you learnt. It'll be easier." She tucked her phone away and stood on the spot in silence for a time. Eventually, she spoke once more.

"Good luck."

She turned to go. "Hold on", I said, setting the case containing the television down at my feet as she turned back with a lifted brow. Reaching into one of the bags, I withdrew something and tossed it to her. She caught the skirt reflexively – it was a moment or two later that she recognized it for what it was. "Why?"

"Why not?" I bent down and recovered my treasures, before turning to the doorway. "You have the air of a girl who desperately needs something to be pleased about." Nudging the door open with a toe, I stepped inside and beyond her.

"Who was that?" Reiko was reading another magazine, but had clearly been watching the exchange through the foyer's windows. She was leaning over the counter with her forearms braced against the structure. _What a cushy job._

"Someone interesting", I offered as I muscled my plunder towards the stairs, prompting my hostess to halfheartedly offer to help. I shook my head and had just begun laboring upwards when she spoke again.

"Oh, Omori left you a message – come back down for it."

"_Hai_", I grunted.

I didn't bother assembling the television when I got it to my room, and I left the sheets neglected in their bag, on the mattress. I had an idea about Omori's message, and I wanted to see to it as soon as possible. Reiko handed me a slip of paper when I returned to the foyer. It had a nearby address in Kabuchiko on it.

"He said to meet him there. The guys at the door know you're coming."

"Thanks, Reiko."

"Mind your manners."

"…Thanks, Reiko."

* * *

><p>I double check the address. The red neon Kanji on the building before me buzzed and flickered slightly. There was no doubt. They translated as Pearls and Swine. <em>Seriously, Omori?<em> It was a 'hostess bar', one of the many places in Kabuchiko where men could come to be intimately addressed by the all female staff. I doubted that was the only racket Omori had going on here, but he could have come up with a better name than that.

Contrary to Reiko's message, there wasn't anyone watching the door, and I let myself in. I blinked in the dim mood lighting within the building. The bar was long and narrow, with the counter and the barmaid extending along the wall to my right. The wall to the left was populated by a single row of booths that marched back towards the rear wall of the building. Young women dressed in stockings and short skirt – and not much else – flitted around, talking and serving the clientele. I was slightly surprised to find they weren't all male. The barmaid paused to examine the door at my arrival. Omori must have circulated my appearance to his staff, because she immediately lifted a slender hand and waved it silently towards the back wall.

I navigated down the alley formed between the booths on the left and the bar on my right. It was a tight passage, and I had to squeeze past a number of the hostesses to reach the far wall. Just as I was nearing the last of the booths, one of the hostesses finished her exchange with her customers and turned to move towards the bar. She brushed past me, and I felt her hand slide across the front of my jeans unsubtly.

_Yeah, Omori's definitely serving something on the side._

The door set into the back wall _was_ watched, by two teenagers dressed in slacks and button-down black shirts. Younger brothers Omori had watching the entrance for him. One of them produced a lopsided smile at my approach. "You're the cowboy, right? _Oniisan_ said you'd be dropping by." He didn't wait for my response before he pulled the door open for me. I looked between the two of them – they couldn't be older than sixteen – before I stepped through and into the back room.

Omori was seated by himself at a lush, black leather couch. His arms were draped over the back behind him, and he slouched into the cushions, his lanky legs sprawled out before him. On the table before him, contained in a shallow dish, was a smoldering hash pipe. "How relaxing", I remarked as I considered his posture, and his eyes opened. His lips curled and cracked into a peaceful, wide grin.

"John Wayne." His voice had that absent, pleased quality and he spoke in English. He'd been hitting the pipe for a while before I came in. Aside from the couch and the table, the room was unfurnished – though there were three sturdy black doors affixed in the wall opposite the one I had arrived through. I assumed they led to the bedrooms, and the breathless, repeated cries that carried through them gave ambiance to our conversation. _Classy_.

"Sit down. I have something for you", Omori beckoned, indicating the couch next to him. I navigated around the table and dropped down beside him. Aside from in the taxies, it was the first time I had been seated all day – and the combination of the high quality cushions and the traces of marijuana in the air had me close to sleep. Omori, meanwhile, leaned languidly forward to scoop something off of the table. He handed me the holster with a pleased smile – he was right to be pleased. The holster was worked leather – exactly the sort of thing a Hollywood cowboy would wear. Of course, John Wayne would have had a Colt Peacemaker in his, not a Russian Grach, but I didn't point this out as I withdrew the MP-443.

"Eighty-five thousand", Omori said as I turned the Grach to and fro in my hand. The serial number had been deftly filed away. It was such a traditional gangster procedure that I found myself smirking sardonically at myself before I nodded and reholstered the pistol.

"That's with the holster and ammunition?"

"_Hai._ I have ten magazines included for a friend. I have another ten, but they're extra."

I cinched the holster around my waist to ensure it hung correctly from my hip as I stood up. Omori was grinning like a mad man to see his 'Cowboy' strap iron, and I was feeling that self-sufficient feeling of a well-armed man. I sat back down, and glanced towards the ceiling.

I thought about what I had seen the night before, and what I had heard today.

"Better give me the lot of them."

"Alright. You're not going to go look for the fucks that jumped you, right?"

"No." I glanced aside as Omori leant over the arm of the couch to produce a box containing the magazines, which he set down directly in my lap. "Why? The OCCB cares about the _Bosozoku_ now?"

"Shit, no." He returned to his limp state on the couch beside me, an amused smile on his lips. "But if _you_ get your head blown off, they're going to take notice." He was right, of course. Fourteen years ago, the _wakagashira_ – head lieutenant – of the Yamaguchi-gumi family, Takumi Masaru, was shot dead by a rival family, the Nakano-kai. Takumi's murder went largely uninvestigated, but the death of a bystander that was struck by a stray Nakano-kai bullet led to the prosecution and total disbandment of the offending family.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while before Omori indicated the pipe on the table. "Need a hit?" When I shook my head, he jerked his head towards one of the stygian doors. "I bet you could do with some female companionship."

"Tanaka Omori, if you knew the day I had today, you'd know the very last thing I can handle is more female companionship."

* * *

><p>When I got back to the apartment a few hours later, Reika was in the back room – I could hear her singing in Japanese. I didn't go in. I just went upstairs and put the sheets on my bed. I took my shirt off and went into the bathroom. I touched the front of my shoulder where I had been shot. It wasn't even tender anymore. Omori had been too high to understand just how unlikely it was for my injury to have healed so fast, so when he demanded he see it again, he just laughed. He said he knew I was a tough motherfucker, but if I could soak up bullets that easily, he was going to have me pay for my room by working protection for him.<p>

I went back into the bedroom and lay on the mattress.

Sleep came instantly, and with it, the dreams.

* * *

><p>"<em>Their racket is way too big. They're pushing us off our turf."<em>

"_We can't compete with the Yamaguchi – this isn't a new development, Yusuke."_

"_It's going to be a permanent development if we don't do something."_

_The two kids talking weren't any older than seventeen, and there was a whining, complaining quality to their voices that I found irritating._

"_If we get pushed off our street, boss isn't going to just settle for our fingers." Yusuke was seriously concerned – and angry. "We need to do something about this. We need to be the ones doing, not the ones done to."_

"_Alright, tough shit – what do we do?"_

_There was a long pause as the two remained hunched over their bottles of Kirin, lips pursed grimly before Yusuke smiled._

"_Easy."_

* * *

><p>When I woke up late the next morning, I spent a few minutes going over the Grach. I cleared the chamber (which was empty anyway), and disassembled the barrel and the firing mechanism. Omori hadn't been exaggerating – the gun wasn't being sought for connection to a crime. By the look of it, it didn't look like it had been fired at all – there was no cleaning necessary. I examined the parts – military issue, pristine condition. Omori was very well connected. I reassembled the pistol, locked the safety and slid a magazine into place with a foreboding click, before hefting it in hand to familiarize myself with its weight. I judged it to be about a kilo – surprisingly heavy for its size. A Beretta M9 was almost an inch longer along the barrel and weighed no more, while a Smith and Wesson Sigma was the same length as the Grach and almost half of a pound lighter.<p>

_Nothing for it._ The holster Omori had given me was configurable, so I could hang the Grach in the crook of my arm. I needed a jacket to conceal it in that position but I had neglected to buy one with Natsumi the other day. Instead, I cinched the holster around my abdomen, just under my ribs and went to go fish out a loose shirt. I still hadn't unpacked the duffle bag, so the collared polo I recovered was pretty badly wrinkled, but it didn't bother me. I let it fall down over my chest and waist, and tucked it into the faded pair of blue jeans I was wearing, tugging it back out slightly to permit it to billow about my midsection. Examining the result in the mirror over the chest of drawers, I decided the holster was undetectable. I wouldn't be able to draw it easily without untucking my shirt again, but it would do until I could manage something better.

When I went downstairs on my way out, Reika wasn't at her counter, and I couldn't hear her in the back room. I guessed she had stepped out or was in some other part of the building – maybe she had a room of her own. The sky was clear as I stepped out into Kabuchiko, and the day was temperate and comfortable – the street was swarming with tourists. My first – possibly only – order of business for the day was to find a jacket to hide the MP-443, and I merged with the flow of the meandering pedestrian crowds.

It took some time, buy I eventually located a nearby shop that catered to the invasive gangs of _Bosozoku _that hung around Kabuchiko. Judging by the way the tattooed shop manager looked me over as I stepped through the door implied I wasn't the sort of customer he was used to stopping in (_Bosozoku _are notorious for their treatment of foreigners), but he seemed to decide I was just another tourist and went back to reading the newspaper he had before him. The _Bosozoku_ were a lot like American biker gangs – the store was stocked heavily with leather jackets, as well as jumpsuits reminiscent of the _Kamikaze_ pilots of the Second World War, a look the thugs liked. And there, in the back of the shop – looking entirely out of place – was an old leather duster.

I knew Omori wasn't the only Japanese with an interest in Classic Westerns. A lot of their animation had Western themes (_Gun x Sword, Cowboy Bebop_) and their film industry was breaking ground in producing their own Spaghetti Westerns; I had seen _The Good, the Bad, and the Weird_ a few years ago in the States. Still, I couldn't figure out what a duster would be doing hanging up in the back of a store for _Bosozoku_. It was fate. Omori was going to love this. I knew it was going to get hotter as summer got into full swing, but then I remembered traditional dusters were designed to be used in the heat of the American southwest, and this one looked pretty authentic. Sure enough, when I took it down, the oiled leather was thin, flexible, and light. _Am I really going to buy into this whole thing?_

It fit perfectly.

* * *

><p>I ran into Natsumi on the way back to my apartment. I had slipped into a public bathroom stall to put on the duster and loop Omori's holster around my upper chest so that the butt of the Grach was against my armpit. She was walking in the other direction and slowed to a halt in front of me. I ground to a halt myself and she fixed me with a flat look.<p>

"What _are_ you wearing?" Her voice had a touch of incredulity to it.

"It's… eh. It's called a duster." I lifted a hand to toy with one of the cargo pouches sewn to the front of the duster, my fingertips picking at the brass button that fastened it shut. I was beginning to think this wasn't the best idea. _At least Omori would 'get' it._

She was quiet for a while before she dipped her head forward in a slow nod. "It suits you. You look like a gunslinger." My faith in the duster was restored.

"What are you doing in Kabuchiko?" I hadn't expected to see her again. _Had she been ordered to check up on me?_

"I have an errand to run nearby." Vague of her.

"I'll walk with you."

"Is that so?"

"I have nothing else to do today."

"How relaxing."

She didn't have any further protest, however, and turned to move down the road in the opposite direction of my apartment. I moved after her, the slitted chaps of my duster flapping playfully at my calves as I meandered after her. I guess dusters were more common in Kabuchiko than I realized (someone would later tell me the _Bosozoku_ wore them to stave off road rash when they fell), and I wasn't getting strange looks anymore.

"What's the errand?" I was curious.

"There was a disturbance in Kabuchiko earlier." She seemed to be in much better spirits today – she wasn't holding back information as we moved along the street. I think she was glad just to have company. I wondered again where her contracted monk was.

"You seem to be in a better mood today."

"Today I don't have to kill you. It makes you better company."  
>I considered this for a short time before I spoke again. "So. A disturbance?"<p>

"_Hai._ Two goons on a motorcycle rode through with submachine guns early this morning, trying to incite panic and disrupt the Yamaguchi operations here. They killed a few people before they took off."

"Really?" I was surprised. The streets of the Kabuchiko were still populated – usually the police would cordon off an area and foot traffic would suffer after an event like that.

Natsumi seemed to read my mind. "The Yakuza cleared it up very quickly. No one even called the Metropolitan Police."

"So you're here after a couple of clowns on a motorcycle?" It didn't seem to be her speed.

"No. They're already in police custody."

"I thought you said…"

"I did. They weren't arrested for the shooting. They got as far as Yotsuya before they lost control and went through the window of a boutique. They're being held for reckless driving and property damage." _Bad luck for them_. Unlike Kabuchiko, Yotsuya was a neighborhood in Shinjuku district that was surprisingly high class. "I'm here investigating because one of the people they shot dead made a miraculous recovery."

"I'm guessing you don't believe in miracles."

"No. My contact in Kabuchiko says it's probably a Shikabane, and they might be cursed."

"Cursed?"

She paused on a street corner and turned to move down one of the side streets before replying. I was happy to let her lead. Now that I knew about the Shikabane, my curiosity was piqued.

"All Shikabane share certain characteristics. Regeneration, strength, speed, and their natural resilience, coupled with their desire to kill. But on the rare occasion, Shikabane may rise from the dread with specific, unique… 'talents'."

"Is that so?"

"_Hai_. I've seen Shikabane produce and manipulate fire, move through solid objects and walls, and teleport themselves from place to place instantly. Curses can really be anything."

"Do you know what you're up against?"

"No. As a Shikabane Hime, I'll be the first one to engage this one." She stopped and looked up at the building before us. "Speaking of which – we're here. Stay outside."

I followed her gaze. "I'm coming in with you." My heart was rapidly sinking into my stomach.

"Don't be ridiculous." Her voice was sharp now. "It's dangerous and there's nothing you can do against a Shikabane anyway. You'll just distract me."

"Regardless, I'm coming in."

We were standing before the _Pearls and Swine._

* * *

><p>She eventually agreed to let me come. A Shikabane's curse could make them impossible to defeat unless they were distracted from using them long enough for a killing blow to be delivered. Even Natsumi had to concede that I would be a fine distraction. The bell on the door of the <em>Pearls<em> chimed lightly, but there wasn't anyone inside to answer it or greet our arrival. The booths were void of customers, and none of the serving women were around. The barmaid had vacated her post and was nowhere to be seen. Behind the bar, the stereo continued to plaintively tinkle mood music away to itself, ignorant of its lack of an audience. As we passed down the length of the deserted bar, it reached the end of the disc and hissed forebodingly into white noise. At the door to the back room, the two 'younger brothers' were still on duty – the only living sole in the _Pearls._ They looked uncomfortable – nervous.

"Hey, Cowboy!" One of them offered me a smile that was all the more feigned for its enthusiasm. I didn't return it, or speak, and Natsumi and I drew to a halt just before them. His grin flickered and slowly faded before he indicated the door. "Omori-san isn't seeing anyone right now."

"He'll see us." My voice was level, though I could feel my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands. The two shifted awkwardly to be exposed to my grim expression, and the steadfast one that Natsumi had adopted. She was all business now. They looked between the two of us for a time.

"He's not right, is he?" The one on the right who spoke looked down at the shined toes of his dress shoes as he spoke. He didn't lift his eyes. "We know he's not right. We're not idiots."

"They shot him so many times… There was blood everywhere. Reika was hysterical. But Omori-san didn't die. He just got back up again a minute later." The other one was speaking now. His voice had a slight waver to it, but he at least could look me in the eyes as he spoke. "It was amazing. He said you were rubbing off on him, Cowboy. That he learnt to take bullets like you can. But since then..."

His voice trailed away into nothing before he finished.

"He keeps asking for us to send the hostesses back to him. But none of them have come back out." He licked his lips nervously after he spoke and looked down.

"Let us in", Natsumi finally spoke.

"_Hai._"

* * *

><p>Omori had repainted the back room with blood.<p>

I knew it was going to be bad, but I wasn't prepared for this. A dozen corpses were strewn about the room – the serving girls. Their dark hair was matted with congealed blood and had stuck to their faces and backs where they had been carelessly tossed. They were all nude, save for one. She was still wearing her shoes, and they protruded up from the wreckage of the table against which Omori had snapped her spine. Somehow, that made her worse than the others to look at – a touch of individuality to separate her from the other victims. One of the three doors to the bedroom had been blown cleanly off of its hinges, and through it I could see the uniformed body of the barmaid sprawled across the bed. She slowly saturated the pale silk sheets a darker crimson with the slow advance of blood from the rent in her throat.

Omori was sprawled on the couch in the same relaxed pose he had adopted when I had arrived the night before, his arms slung back over the bloody couch. One of the butchered serving girls was lying across him, her head in his lap. She had been eviscerated. Unlike my previous Shikabane, Omori wasn't rotten. He looked completely normal at first glance, except for the blood soaking the front of his suit and his arms up to the elbow. His eyes were wild and slightly sunken, but aside from this, he looked the same.

"John Wayne." His voice had a dusty, hollow quality, like dead leaves rustling against each other. His smile was too big. He looked deranged.

I fought for composure and found it. "Omori." I slipped a hand down the front of my duster to part the garment slightly, ready to flick underneath for the Grach if it was necessary. The gesture drew his attention towards the duster and he laughed excitedly. Manically.

"Hey, _alright!_ Looks good, brother. Now you look _and_ sound like a cowpoke. Where'd you find that, Laz?" _I knew he'd like it._ It wasn't bringing me any comfort.

"You know. Around." I let the silence go on for a while, until Omori decided to fill it.

"You know when I was shot, all I could think about was you. You're ice cool, you know that, brother?" He paused for a little while. "I knew if it had been you, you would have shrugged those bullets right off. Nothing to it. I wanted to be a tough guy like you. A real gunslinger. I wished I had brought you into the fold, man. You could be great. With you, we could both be great." He was rambling – disjointedly – but when he spoke again, it made sense to me. "I really regretted not meeting you sooner, Laz." I felt Natsumi's eyes on me suddenly. My lips tightened. Omori glanced towards the girl at my side.

"But I guess this bitch got to you first, huh, brother? Guess I can't compete with what she's offering, huh?" Omori's voice was suddenly filled with hostility – he knew what she was – and then things began to happen very quickly. There was a sickening crunch as the back of his skull split open and an unnatural hissing sound followed. An inky black mist poured from the wound until it hovered about him like a thick swarm of malicious flies.

"Get back, Laz", Natsumi said, pulling her revolver from her bag as she spoke. "It's his curse." She swept the gun towards him as he released a monstrous roar and surged towards us with horrifying speed. I felt Natsumi's free hand on my shoulder, supplying a powerful shove that threw me out of the way. I stumbled and one of the shoed feet of the dead server on the table caught me. I fell.

Natsumi needn't have been concerned. Omori wasn't interested in me. He had eyes only for her. She fired three rounds point blank into his midsection, but the black fog surrounding him rippled at the impact and there was no effect. He swung a viciously hooked hand at her, but she was every bit as lithe as he was, and sidestepped, leaping aside to give her room. She turned and snapped off her remaining three rounds at her target, but again the stygian vapour billowed as she fired and he didn't slow.

He lunged after her and swept a hand at her head with the aim of removing her head. Tossing aside her revolver as Omori came, the Shikabane Hime lifted her hand and caught her forearm in the crook of his elbow, halting his strike.

"Fuck off", she snarled as she swung her free fist in a hook at the side of his head.

Natsumi hadn't understood Omori's curse. The vapour billowing around him had not _blocked_ the bullets she had fired, but had allowed them to pass through Omori's form harmlessly. From where I had rolled to my feet, I could see the six neat craters where they had impacted in the opposite wall, but Natsumi's angle meant she hadn't noticed. There was no warning her, and the fist she swept at Omori passed through the dark mist and out the other side of his head without stopping, leaving the dead girl off balance.

With a dark laugh, Omori caught her by the lapel of her blouse and used the momentum of her failed counter to hurl her violently against the adjacent wall. She struck with enough force to send a web of fractures through the wall. She fell to the floor in a shower of plaster and did not move.

_Shit._

Omori turned to the shattered table, ignoring me for the time being. He bent down and snapped one of the legs from the ruined structure with a sharp crack of wood. The makeshift club he had acquired had a jagged point, and he hefted it evilly in his hand as he moved towards Natsumi's fallen form.

"Omori." He turned at my call.

The MP-443 was leveled in my hand. I found myself thankful for its weight. It was reassuring. My duster billowed, as I had thrown it dramatically open in order to wrench the pistol from its den against my chest. Omori blinked to see the barrel pointed at him.

"You're not going to shoot a friend, Laz. Don't be ridiculous."

Omori had been a friend. But this wasn't Omori.

He wasn't a friend.

What he was was distracted.

"End of the line, pilgrim."

I squeezed the trigger.

* * *

><p>The MP-443 is a hell of a gun. As a military sidearm, it was designed to be used after heavy fighting had extinguished a Russian soldier's primary arms, and left him in a close quarter's engagement. Its sights are optimized for fifty meters, and its hair trigger had minimal resistance when pulled. Short-recoil operated, it can fire as fast as the user can depress the trigger. Each magazine held seventeen rounds.<p>

In the end I only needed five.

Omori's surprise had let his guard drop. The vapour that had saved him from Natsumi had receded and eased back, exposing him. My first round struck centre of mass – where I had been aiming, and I continued to pull the trigger as fast as I was able. The nose of the Grach rose with each successive burst that blew dark, poisonous holes in Omori's abdomen and chest. By the fifth round, the barrel had rose considerably, and the nine by nineteen millimeter Parabellum bullet blew cleanly through his forehead, and spat out a dark burst of tissue speckled with ivory fragments of skull against the wall, above where Natsumi was sprawled. Omori's head snapped by grotesquely with the force of the shot, but he didn't fall immediately. He returned his attention towards me, his face slack and mystified, as if he couldn't believe what had happened. The round had entered just over his right eye, and a bubbling slide of fetid tissue was rolling down to obscure it. His left stared at me in wonderment.

"You… shot me… with my own gun." His voice was a bare whisper.

"Sorry about that."

His legs folded up underneath him and he crumpled to the ground, dead. For good this time.

* * *

><p>"You killed him..." Natsumi had recovered quickly and was standing up at the base of the wall. Rather than Omori's folded form, however, she was staring at me as if she was trying to see out the other side.<p>

"He needed killing." I pushed open my duster again and holstered the Grach under my arm.

"He can't be dead."

"Believe it, sister."

"No." She said it stubbornly. She was staring at me in shock and suspicion. "Only Shikabane can kill Shikabane – or the Gods. You're neither. _He can't be dead._"

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I said: "Get used to surprises."

She turned her attention to Omori, but there was no doubt. Dead. Dead. Dead. Her lips pursed together into a hard, concerned line until I spoke.

"What do we do now?"

"We?" She blinked at that. "I'm going back to the Sect to report about this. I don't think you should come with me… but they'll probably want to talk to you." We began walking towards the door that returned to the commons of the _Pearls._ The two younger brothers weren't waiting on the far side – probably off to do some reporting of their own. "Is there a number I can reach you at?" Natsumi lifted her brows at me.

"Sure." I gave her my number as we walked back through the deserted bar room towards the exit to the streets of Kabuchiko. "Don't call until tomorrow though. I need to move out of my apartment. I just killed a _kyodai_. The Yamiguchi will probably want words with me, and I don't want to be living in the place _they_ rented me when they come."

We were now on the street. There was a light wind blowing down between the buildings, and it busied itself flicking the hem of my chaps around my calves and sending the cloak of my duster rolling out behind me. I reached a hand into one of the cargo pouches on the front and fished out my mp3 player. I clipped it to the lip of the pouch and inserted one of the ear buds, listening to the familiar hiss of the player powering up through the headset. When it was finished, I brushed the shuffle key with the side of my thumb.

Johnny Cash. _God's Gonna Cut you Down._

Natsumi smiled and began to walk away. She called back over her shoulder.

"See you, Cowboy."


	4. Chapter 4: The Tower

**Chapter 4: The Tower**

Once Natsumi was gone, my composure went with her. _I'm in deep shit now._ I moved down the side street that housed the _Pearls_ at a trot, moving back towards where it joined one of the main arteries of Kabuchiko. Though Kabuchiko had come under heavy fire from the OOCB and other branches of the Metropolitan Police, it was still deep Yakuza territory – the younger brothers from the _Pearls _wouldn't have to go very far to make their report to the nearest Yamaguchi _kyodai._ And then there would be trouble.

The worked leather of my duster beat against my calves as I jogged to a halt before the tenements, and I took a moment to scan the street. _Real subtle, hombre._ The only pedestrians on the street were minding their own business – I didn't see anyone that immediately struck me as an enforcer.

But who could tell?

I pushed open the door to the foyer, and the bell on the jam released a chime like a gunshot. I winced.

"You _bastard._" It was Reika. I wasn't sure if she vaulted the counter, but she was on me in an instant, her manicured nails hooked into vicious barbs that sought my face and eyes. I lifted my hands to protect myself, and she scrabbled at the leather sleeves of my duster. I twisted my hands and tried to grab her by the wrists, but she began to violently kick at my shins. I grunted in pain.

"_He trusted you_", Reika was shrieking in a shrill, hysterical voice at me as she writhed violently at me. _I guess the doormen have already been here._ She had been crying, and her eyes were puffy and red, but presently narrowed with rage as she attempted to claw at my cheeks. _Don't make me shoot her._

"I'm sorry!" I shouted it in Reika's face with all the strength I could muster. I had hoped it would surprise her, and it did. She slackened and I used the lull to step back , brushing open my duster with a hand as I did so. The butt of the Grach protruding from my shoulder was exposed, and Reika's eyes settled on it immediately. Her hands balled into tight fists at her hips and she squared her shoulders. Her teeth fastened on her lower lip and she clenched her jaw, but she didn't come at me again. _Thank God._

"I'm sorry", I repeated, in a level, even manner, "I am." I kept my eyes on Reika. It hurt to look at her. "I wish I could explain, Reika, but I can't. I don't have time."

"He didn't have many friends – didn't _want_ many friends." Reika was staring back at me, her dark eyes hard and defiant – steeped with accusation. "But he _wanted_ you. He jumped through every hoop he could just to have a _chance _at being your friend. And you killed him."

I had nothing to say. There was silence for a moment before Reika released a heartbroken sob that caught and shuddered in her throat. "I like you, Lazarus, but I won't ever forgive you. Get out of here. They're coming for you and I hope they get you." She turned her face from me and moved towards the back room, her shoulders shaking.

I took the stairs three at a time.

I wouldn't need the sheets. I left them. I went into the bathroom and took the lid off of the toilet's cistern and fished out the plastic bag I had taped to the side of the chamber. Ten million Japanese yen in various denominations – about one hundred and twenty thousand United States dollars. I had withdrawn it from my bank account as security in case something happened to my account, and was glad I had. My accounts were American, so I doubted the Yamaguchi-gumi could get at them, or had the contacts required in the Metropolitian Police to track my card, but I knew half of the Yakuza were accountants. If they had someone working in the banks, they could probably monitor my transactions. I'd live off my cash for a while.

As I was grabbing my razor and toiletries, I glanced into the mirror. _Shit._ The front of my duster was spattered with dark blood. I must not have noticed the blowback when I shot Omori. I took it off. It was too distinctive anyway – the younger brothers probably would mention what I had been wearing at the _Pearls_. I returned to the bedroom and stuffed the duster and the my other supplies back into my duffle bag – which still contained my unpacked clothes. I grabbed a few pairs of underwear and a shirt, and added them before I unholstered the Grach and threw the holster into my bag – without the duster, I couldn't conceal it – and piled the extra magazines Omori had sold me on top of it.

Ensuring the safety was on, I tucked the Grach into the waistband of my pants instead, and slung the heavy duffle bag over my right shoulder. I headed for the door – no more than a minute had passed since I had arrived within my room, and I was already on my way out. With a pang of regret I considered the abandoned television, but there was nothing for it. _I hope the bastards enjoy it._

When I dismounted the stairs and returned to the foyer, I could hear Reika crying haltingly in the back room. I didn't go in. Instead I pushed open the door and returned to the street outside, the light breeze having increased into a stiffer wind in my time inside. It blew a bit of dust from the street in my eyes and I was still blinking as I turned to move away from the tenement.

The two _shatei_ from the _Pearls_ were there standing there, accompanied by three more suited enforcers. All five of them simply stared at me for a moment, blinking in surprise. One of the older men released a little grunt that seemed to break them from their indecision and as one they all grappled for the inside of their suit jackets.

_Well, fuck._

Their moment of hesitation saved me, and I bolted out into the street amid the sudden blare of offended drivers laying onto their horns. I didn't stop, but when a bystander gave a sharp screech of alarm, I inferred that the Yamaguchi thugs behind me were taking aim; I tossed myself sideways in order to take cover behind the back wheel of a passing compact. Gunshots exploded powerfully across the street and the windows of the car shattered in a swirling dance of broken glass that rained down around me. Suddenly everyone was screaming, running. Cars were accelerating away as their drivers panicked and there was a heavy crunch as one rear ended the vehicle I had used for cover. _Two shootings in one day. Kabuchiko can't cut a break._

The young driver of the compact I had ducked behind had thrown herself below the dash for cover when the firing started, but she was attempting to wriggle out of her passenger side door on my side of the car – opposite the position of the gunmen. "Stay down", I barked at her, and she gave me a terrified nod of her head before we both had to duck as a new wave of gunfire wracked the vehicle. As I crouched, I slipped the Grach from my waistband and thumbed the safety off, my left hand curling around the handle of the passenger door. I stood up and fired six quick round back over the hood of her car without pausing to aim more than coarsely. The enforcers across the street dove for cover regardless of the wild manner of my return fire, and I used the opportunity to tug the door open.

"Go. Go now!" The young woman scrambled out of the car and began fleeing down the street, her head ducked low and her heels clicking against the broken glass that carpeted the asphalt around us. I turned and fled in the opposite direction before the Yamaguchi could recover. I ran to the intersection of the next street and ducked around the building on the corner just as a fresh series of blasts blew chunks out of its masonry. The foot traffic within Kabuchiko had evaporated – those who had been passing by either having run at the sound of the engagement or crowded into the cramped storefronts for cover. With the sidewalks abandoned, I could see the two Yakuza hurrying down from the distant gates out of Kabuchiko to intercept me. They saw me, but by then I was already lifting the Grach to fire and beat them to it.

I had the chance to aim now as I fired off another six shot series at these two. The first received a pair of rounds in his leg and dropped to the pavement with a bellow of pain – his gun clattering out of his hand as he reached for the injury. His companion reacted faster than I anticipated and threw himself into the nearest storefront. I advanced on his the injured man at a run, kicking the gun away from his fallen form. He was more interested in his mauled leg, of course, but as the gun skittered away, I thought I recognized it as a Glock 18. A selective fire version of the Glock 17 favored by certain Counter Terrorist Units, the Glock 18 could be fired fully automatic – all seventeen rounds could be expended in under a second. _These guys are not fucking around._

I turned to the storefront just as the second Yakuza was getting to his feet, his gun still in his hand as he leapt back towards the door. He clearly hadn't been expecting my rapid advance, and he seemed shocked to find me already looming over him. He froze and wasn't able to bring his gun to bear in time to beat my MP-443. I leveled the barrel at his midsection and squeezed the trigger.

_Click._

I wasn't a trained hitman like the men chasing me. My father had been a Second Right aficionado. Before he died of heart failure when I was sixteen, he had made sure I knew how to care for and shoot a number of sidearms. After he was gone, I had carried on with the tradition as a way to remember him, but that was it – I wasn't trained in active combat. I had forgotten the five rounds I had used on Omori – I hadn't realized I there was nothing left in the magazine. Instead of having five of seventeen rounds, I had zero of seventeen rounds.

I was dry.

The Yamaguchi before me heard the click of the firing mechanism failing and smirked with a relieved breath of air. He lifted his own sidearm – which I numbly recognized as a Beretta 92 – and fired from the hip, shooting me through my abdomen. I felt the jerk of the bullet as it entered me and the heat of the slug passing straight through my side – hot lead. The pain was immediate and intense, a searing rush of agony that pulsed up my center and overwhelmed all other senses. The enforcer who shot me clearly was expecting the pain to drop me from my feet, which explained his surprise as I instead swung my fist with all the strength I could muster at his head and smashed him across the temple with the barrel of my Grach. He crumpled to the ground as I pressed my free hand against the bleeding wound on my abdomen. _Fuck._

Gut wounds could take days to die from blood loss, but it wouldn't be very much longer that I still had the strength to run. I turned and bolted again, each pounding step leading to a new stab of pain driving into my whole body. The group of Yakuza that had jumped me outside of the tenements had regrouped and just rounded the corner behind me as I desperately put distance between us. They opened fire, but they were still moving and I was outside of the effective range of their pistols – the shots went wild and impacted against the street and the buildings lining it. My head spinning with the pain of my wound, I scrambled through the gate of Kabuchiko and turned along the street I found myself on. I kept running, ducking around corners and changing directions erratically. Outside of Kabuchiko, there was still heavy foot traffic to mask my flight, but most of the pedestrians were giving me shocked looks and shying aside from me. My shirt was soaked in a widening circle of blood. I had to get off the street.

By sheer accident, I happened across a public toilet and ducked inside, clutching at my abdomen. Somewhere far behind me, I could hear the insistent wail of police sirens – someone had called Tokyo Met this time. They would give the Yamaguchi reason to scatter and break pursuit, but I knew they would have people watching the hospitals. I staggered into one of the stalls – the restroom was thankfully empty – and locked it behind me. I collapsed onto the lid of the toilet seat and dropped my bag on the floor before me. Placing the Grach on top of the cistern behind me, I tore my shirt open along my front and reached for the half-expended roll of toilet paper affixed to the wall of the stall. In a desperate bid to stop the bleeding, I began wadding the absorbent tissue up and packing both the entry wound and exit wound. The pain was blinding.

I was wondering if I could appeal for police protection when I passed out.

* * *

><p><em>"He got away?" He was frustrated – everything today had gone so wrong.<em>

_"_Hai. _He injured Itsuki and Katsuo in his escape." Placating – offering excuses._

_"Tch. How badly?"_

_"Katsuo took two in the leg. His Tibia is shattered. Itsuki was pistol whipped in the head – I think his pride is the most damaged thing about him. He did manage to put a slug into the American though."_

_"Where?" Curious now. At least this was a positive development._

_"He said he got him in the gut."_

_"Good. He'll need a doctor for that."_

_"We already have someone at Ota and more are on the way to all the locale emergency wards."_

_"It wont matter." A new voice. Soft and sad. Reiko._

_"What's that, nee-chan?" Both of the conversing men turned their attention towards her._

_"It wont matter." Insistent. "He was shot a few days before too. It doesn't effect him. He heals too quickly."_

_Mr. Frustrated made a choked, incredulous sound in the back of his throat, but Mr. Placating just shook his head._

_"It's true. Omori made a report the morning he died that said the same thing. The American took a round in the shoulder and healed from it within a few hours with only basic care. He wanted permission to invite the foreigner to associate with us – thought having someone with that ability would be useful." Placating again._

_"No kidding. I don't think we'll extend the invitation though."_

_There was silence for a short while before Frustrated spoke again. "So. He's three days into the country. He's been shot twice already, but seems to have no issue dealing with that on his own – we can't expect him to seek medical help. His accounts are American, but if he uses a Japanese cash point, one of ours in the _Nippon Ginko_ might be able to flag it."_

_"Omori said he paid for the pistol and extra magazines in cash."_

_"So he has reserves of cash then. If he's smart he'll be relying on them. He also has extra ammunition, and judging by today, he's not shy about using it."_

_"_Hai."_ Another, uncomfortable pause before Frustrated gave a curse._

_"How do we find this guy? He has no contacts whatsoever for us to shake down."_

_No one seemed to have an answer._

_Until Reiko spoke again._

_"…There was a girl."_

_Both men turned towards her, and Frustrated allowed a wide, friendly smile to part his face._

_"Tell me."_

* * *

><p>I woke up with a jerk, my chin pressed against my chest. I was still in the stall, but there was someone outside of it asking me if I was alright. My head clouded with a haze that made me sluggish, but I managed to mutter out an affirmative. There was a grunt and the man moved off. The superintendant of the property, I guessed.<p>

I checked the clod of tissue that I had pressed to my wound. It was caked and brittle with dried blood. I slowly picked the wadding apart until I could see the injury. This time, it was still there. The edges of the entry wound were pink with granulation tissue, and the wound had begun to scab. The bleeding had long since stopped. Without stitches. Without _anything._ No doubt about it – something was up with me.

I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though I couldn't shake a dark foreboding cloud that had settled on me. Something I had dreamt about was tickling at the back of my head, but I couldn't recall it. I decided to focus on matters at hand. I threw the bloody paper into the toilet and flushed it away. Removing my torn shirt, I cast it aside for a moment in order to rummage around in my bad. Bending forwards was incredibly painful – I had to take it slowly – but I managed to retrieve and dress myself in my only remaining shirt. _I'm going to have to go shopping again._

I took a moment to learn from my mistake and reloaded the Grach with a fresh magazine as I sat on the toilet. When I stood up with my bag slung over my shoulder, I tucked the MP-443 into my waistband. The grip rested just below the ugly scab that indicated where I had been shot. Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I fished out my phone and checked the time. It was a little past three in the afternoon – I estimated two hours since I had been shot. I had missed a phone call while I was blacked out – but the number was unregistered. I couldn't return it. Washing my bloody hands at the sink and tossing my ruined shirt in the bin on my way out of the bathroom, I returned to the Shinjuku street and hailed the nearest cab. I asked him to take me to a hotel in Taito – a district I picked at random – and told him I didn't care what it was called.

* * *

><p><em>"Gon-Dai Sojo!" Rapid footsteps carried down the hallway<em>

_"What is it?" He spoke as he turned._

_"Kamura Natsumi. Have you heard the report she gave of the Shikabane in Kabuchiko?"_

_"No." Patiently._

_"It was killed…"_

_"And?"_

_"It wasn't killed by Natsumi. It was killed by the American."_

_"…Has he reverted to a Shikabane himself then?" Folding his arms across his chest as he waited._

_"No. Natsumi insists that he is still a living human."_

_"That cannot be."_

_"She is quite sure."_

_A heavy pause lengthened between the two before the Gon-Dai Sojo spoke again. "Where is the American now?"_

_An awkward cough._

_"Well?"_

_"There… was another incident in Kabuchiko, Gon-Dai Sojo. The Shikabane that was killed apparently had some sort of connection to the Yamaguchi-gumi clan. They retaliated against the American immediately."_

_Stiff backed, the Gon-Dai Sojo had no reply._

_"Initial reports both from our contacts and the Metro press release suggest he escaped, though he was probably injured – possibly seriously. He left a contact number with Natsumi, but the call we sent wasn't answered."_

_There was continuing silence for a time before the deep voice of the superior of the two issued with finality._

_"Find him. If what you say is true, he could be the ultimate answer to the Shikabane Hime problem."_

* * *

><p>I woke up the next morning unprompted. There was a moment of hazy confusion in which I struggled to recall where I was. The hotel was situated just north of Asakusa, occupying all of eight stories – a modest establishment. They'd probably take payment in cash. I don't know what woke me, but moments later I heard a chime as my phone began to ring. <em>Good timing.<em> I bent over the side of the bed and made to fish it out of the pocket of my abandoned jeans, my sleep addled fingers fumbling slightly. The face of my phone read twenty past eight in the morning. It was an unknown number calling – I could only presume the same from the day before.

"Hello?" My voice was heavy with sleep as I answered.

I could sense the person on the line catching their breath. "…Is this… Lazarus?" The voice on the other end of the phone was a woman's I didn't recognize.

"You've got him." I used my free hand to work the heel of my palm into the socket of my eye, trying to wake myself up.

"_Ohayo gozaimasu._" She sounded relieved. "My name is Aragami Rika. I'm calling on behalf of the Kougon Sect. You left this number with one of our agents yesterday?"

"_Hai._ I recognize your name. You were promoted to Sojo a few days ago?" I paused for a moment before I added, awkwardly: "Congratulations."  
>"<em>Arigato<em>." She gushed slightly. I had temporarily distracted her but when she spoke again, she was back on point. "Sources told us that you were involved in a shooting shortly after Kamura Natsumi left you in Kabuchiko."

"That's right." As I spoke, I considered the fan affixed to the ceiling of my hotel room. It was spinning in a lazy, comforting manner.

"You were injured? Do you need medical assistance? I double as the Kougon Sect's head healer." There was a note of worry in her voice now, but I grunted and used my free hand to pull up the hem of the shirt I had fallen asleep in. Sitting up slightly to crane my neck, I found that the skin of my stomach was wholly broken – _there wasn't even a scar._

"No. I'm fine."

There was a considerable silence in the wake of my reply before she spoke.

"I see. Sojo Takamise informed me of your ability to rapidly recover." In the slight pause she allowed I grunted a vague affirmative before she continued. "The Head Temple will offer you shelter. I wont deny we've got a few questions – what happened with the Shikabane yesterday was unusual – unprecedented. Where are you now? We can send a car around."

"I'm in Saito. I can walk to the Sect's Temple from here. I remember the way."

"I don't think so", she countered, a touch of sternness now. "I don't think we should put you out onto the streets any more than is necessary." I grunted and supplied the name of the hotel. She told me to be ready in five minutes and hung up.

Placing my phone back into the pocket of my jeans, I rolled out of bed and dressed quickly, throwing on the same shirt I had worn when I arrived at the hotel. Once again, I was leaving before I had unpacked my bag, so once I had scooped it up from where I had tossed it by the door, I was on the move again. I rode the elevator down to the lobby of the hotel and approached the desk, checking the series of dials that read the international times behind it. I had four minutes left, and one of them was consumed as I checked out of my room. I thanked the clerk and exited the hotel, and stepped out into the street. Waving apologies to the drives who slowed to let me jaywalk, I rapidly crossed to the far side, where a wrought-iron fence marked the perimeter of a little park. There was a bench on the street side of the fence, and I sat myself down.

I had been seated for less than a minute when a beige sedan pulled up across the street. Though I was purposely looking askance at the two men who emerged from the vehicle, I identified them as the two monks that had interrupted Natsumi and I at the _Albatross_ two days ago. _You never can be too sure._ Scooping up my bag as one of the monks disappeared into the lobby of the hotel I had just vacated, I waited for a break in traffic before trotting across the street towards the waiting car.

"He checked out already? Why would he do that? Did he leave a note or something for us?" The monk was on his phone, presumably speaking to his counterpart inside the hotel. Before the man on the other end could answer, however, he caught sight of me and spoke. "It's alright, Taichi, he's here. Come back out." He closed his phone and tucked it back away inside of the folds of his robe before looking to me.

"Sorry – that was the first time I heard Sojo Aragami's voice. I wanted to be certain it was actually the Kougon Sect coming around." I had no idea how likely or if it was even possible for the Yamaguchi to get my phone number, but I wasn't going to take any unnecessary risks.

"I understand." The monk before me bowed his head to indicate as much before he spread a hand slightly. I noticed that even as he spoke, his eyes were drifting about to scrutinize the street about us. "I am Miyato Hayate. We met the other day – I'm here to escort you to the Temple again." As he was speaking, his companion emerged from within the hotel and moved to join us. He opened the rear door of the sedan for me and indicated it with a wave of his meaty hand. I ducked around him to situate myself on the back seat.

The car lurched slightly as Hayate opened his door and settled the considerable bulk of his burly form behind the wheel. As he started the ignition, Taichi trotted around the back of the sedan to open the opposite door. The moment he joined me in the back seat, Hayate pulled the car away from the curb and out into traffic. It wasn't far to Asakusa and the Temple, but it was rush hour and we inched ahead slowly.

"Buckle up", Hayate advised in a level voice. His eyes were split between the road and the rearview mirror in order to keep track of the cars behind us. "Just in case", he added as he changed lanes. Taichi was staring steadfastly out of his window.

"Worried?" I asked rhetorically.

"We're not the only ones." Hayate used the rearview mirror to look at me instead, and produced a smile about his eyes for my benefit before resuming his watch on the traffic around us. Taichi took up the burden of explaining.

"When we received the report of your altercation with the Shikabane yesterday, there was quite a lot of excitement at the temple. Having an additional way to kill Shikabane is of great value to the Temple, so most of the Gon-Sojo and up wanted a chance to get their hands on you." Taichi paused as Hayate suddenly accelerated to overtake a slower vehicle in our lane, before he resumed.

"Shortly after, we received news that the Yamaguchi had made an attempt on your life. Witnesses claimed that you had been shot, potentially fatally. Most of the Kougon Sect were concerned at that for various reasons." I lifted a brow at him and he produced a small smile for my benefit. "You're not just valuable for your abilities. After the council meeting two days ago, you may just have a few more friends than you know."

His words gave me a moment or two's worth of thought before I spoke again, changing the course of the conversation. "This is the second time they've sent you to pick me up. Are you in charge of transportation?"

Taichi and Hayate simultaneously released a snorted breath of laughter before they shook their heads and Hayate spoke from the front. "We're soldiers for the Kougon Sect. It's what you call monks that fight the Shikabane. Shikabane Hime aren't all that common, so a lot of us make do without them until the situation allows one to bind with us. The role of soldier is why they send us to pick you up. They seem to think being around you is a dangerous job."

"I can't imagine why", I said dourly.

They both smirked.

* * *

><p>Hayate took the car around, leaving Taichi to escort me through the gate and onto the temple grounds. He seemed to relax the moment we passed underneath the arch and onto the smooth pavement of the complex. I wondered if he thought the Yakuza wouldn't stoop to attack a temple. I asked.<p>

"It's not that", he claimed as we moved towards the large pagoda dominating the centre of the complex again. He waved a hand aside to the various monks and the scattered female companions that were navigating the pathways or sitting on the grass between them. "At any given time, the majority of monks within the temple grounds are soldier monks – and we all go armed. We're also supported by our Shikabane Hime. Suffice to say, the Yamaguchi would bite off more than they could chew if they tried to run an assault against us."

"Is that so?" By now we had reached the base of the pagoda's steps and began to ascend onto the verandah. He merely nodded his head and pushed the door open to permit us to step into the structure.

"This way." Taichi turned the opposite direction as two days prior and began moving down the hallway away from the council chamber. His sandals and my boots clattered heavily on the wooden floor underfoot as we advanced. Taichi led me to a wide staircase that ascended up to the second level of the main temple. Mounting the top of the stairs, I found us both in a hallway identical to that on the ground floor in all respects. None of the Shoji doors were labeled. I wondered how my guide knew his way around.

Know his way around he did, though, for he led me down the hallway to an unmarked door and slid it open, ushering me through. On the other side was a wide office containing a half-dozen occupants or so. A heavy oak administrative desk was set before the wide bay windows on the wall, and at it sat the only member of this meeting that I recognized at sight. Sougen looked every inch a warlord sitting at his desk as he had in the council chamber, his hands folded together before him and his elbows resting upon the surface before him.

Behind his right shoulder there was a serious looking young woman, her lips pursed into a tight line. Her pale-brown hair was tied back in ribbons in two pigtails that I hoped weren't intended to give her an air of innocence – because they failed spectacularly. Her face was framed by trailing bangs and a severe set of wire-rimmed glasses were seated upon her nose before her dark, keen eyes.. Everything about her shouted librarian to me, except for the fact that the hilts of two twin katanas extended up past her shoulders from where they were strapped to her back.

In the corner behind the desk – occupied as I entered by returning a book to one of the pine shelves arranged there – was another man. He was wearing dark blue robes that reminded me of those that the Gon-Dai Sojo had been wearing in the council chambers. However, he wore no hat; his head had been meticulously shaved and as he turned to face me I noticed the pale blue swirl of a ritual tattoo on the side of his head. His face was surprisingly expressive – and at the moment filled with amicable curiosity.

Two chairs had been arranged before Sougen's desk. The one on the right was occupied by a woman who sat sideways upon it, one leg crossed over the other. She was curvaceous, and the formfitting vest she wore under her opened prayer robe made this more obvious. Her sandy brown hair was cut short in a boyish way that suited her. She was chewing on the eraser of a pencil and examining a clipboard against her lap, but my entrance drew her pale eyes towards me.

"Oh, you're here. Lazarus, right?" I recognized her voice as Aragami Rika's and she identified herself as such. After seeing Sougen and the other Sojo in the chamber, I was surprised by her appearance.

"You got him." I nodded my head.

Now Sougen spoke in his deep voice. As he did so, be unclasped one of his hands in order to indicate about the room. "I believe you caught my name in the council chamber, but I regardless I am Sojo Takamine Sougen. This is Sojo Honda." He waved a hand towards the man that stood in the corner by the bookshelf, who offered me a bare smile and a nod of his head in greeting. "This is Todoroki Kamika", he said finally, lifting his hand to indicate the woman behind him. She didn't so much as budge with her introduction, and Sougen settled his hands back onto the desk. With his introductions done, he began to speak more seriously. His first act of business was to request Taichi's departure, and the large monk bowed out graciously – relieving me of my duffle bag as he went. He told me he'd place it in my room.

"After yesterday's incident, the Dai-Sojo, Gon-Dai Sojo and the council have agreed to offer you amnesty." Sougen spoke once the Shoji door of his office had shut again. "We would like you to remain within the Temple as we investigate exactly how you were able to kill the Shikabane you and Karuna Natsumi encountered in Kabuchiko. In addition, there are those amongst us – including myself and the Dai-Sojo – who feel that your recent misfortune was acquired during direct support of the Kougon sect. As such, we have prepared a room for you in one of the secondary buildings of the complex traditionally used for housing associates of the Temple… if you would accept our hospitality."

It didn't take a lot of thought to come to my own decision. "I accept. I'm curious as to what this all means myself." _It is my body, after all._ _Not to mention all the armed thugs roaming the streets, looking for me._ It seemed that the little gathering before me had all thought along the same lines – none of them seemed surprised by my response.

"Excellent", Rika spoke, looking down at the clipboard again. "We'll have a room ready for you in an hour or so."

"Then _maybe_ I can show you around it." The voice that spoke was high and mocking, a falsetto that issued from somewhere behind my right ear. It wasn't a very good attempt, but the speaker was evidently trying to mimic Rika's inflection, and the Sojo's face flushed immediately. I turned, growing aware of a rustling noise behind me as I did so. Laying in a little alcove, in the process of opening a bag of potato chips, was a preteen girl with long, straight blonde hair. She grunted as she struggled with the seal, which finally burst. I felt one of my brows lift as I looked back towards those in the room before me.

Kamika had merely closed her eyes, though Honda and Sougen were both wearing smiles – the former was hiding his behind a book he had strategically recovered from the shelf. Rika looked like she was boiling and she opened her mouth to shout something at the girl when Sougen cut her off and spoke to me.

"Sojo Honda is eager to begin a cursory examination we've arranged." He looked aside to the smooth-pated man in the corner, who nodded his head and placed the book aside, suddenly serious again. "He'll take you from here."

As Honda slid the door to Sougen's office closed behind us, Rika began to squall at the offending girl, her voice high and scandalized.

* * *

><p>"Don't mind Saki", Honda advised me as we moved down the hallway, his pace surprisingly casual as we progressed. "She is incredibly strong, but because of her age at the time of her death, she's still… unpredictable."<p>

_Death?_

"She's a Shikabane Hime?"

"_Hai._ Rika is her contracted monk. They're excellent under pressure together, but day to day, I'm fairly sure Saki is driving Rika insane."

"Do all the monks of the Kougon sect have Shikabane Hime?"

"No, not all. The Kougon sect is split into two subsects – we call them bloodlines, but that's a misleading term. Members of a bloodline aren't necessarily related – they're merely factions of the Kougon sect adhering to alternate… opinions. One subsect is led by the Gon-dai Sojo and is composed of monks we call investigators. As you can guess, they investigate and support the combat monks in their efforts against the Shikabane. The dominant bloodline is led by the Dai-Sojo and is composed of the soldier monks."

"You were an investigator."

"_Hai_." Momentary surprise registered on his face before he went on. "I was an inspector. Inspectors, because of their supportive roles, do not take Shikabane Hime – our particular subsect is adverse to the need for Shikabane Hime regardless."

That surprised me. "Why?"

Honda paused, and for a moment or two he looked troubled before he swept the expression away from his face and spoke with a sort of offhanded bluntness. "As much as we try to deny it, Shikabane Hime are Shikabane, merely those that we can control. They're still an affront to nature – a denial of death. They're defiled. My bloodline accepts their use because there is no other way."

I debated explaining my opinions regarding the subjective nature of death to Honda, but his word choice on the matter of Shikabane Hime was strong enough that I inferred he wouldn't take it for what was offered. Instead, I said: "Which is why you're so interested in me, right?"

"_Hai._" At least he wasn't making any excuses about it. "Aside from just plain curiosity of course – the entire sect is wondering how you did what you did. It is merely our bloodline that is looking beyond mere curiosity towards possible application. With that, he pushed open a door and stood aside for me: "We're here."

* * *

><p>I had been expecting a lab – having spent six years around them, when someone mentions the word 'tests', it's a reflexive assumption. The room that Honda sat with me in was not a lab, however, but a small, comfortable room lined with bookshelves stocked with reference scriptures. Honda had piled out a few of them and stacked them next to where we sat opposite one another, cross-legged on the floor. He read through one, his lips silently moving, before he snapped it closed and looked towards me.<p>

"From here on out, we're in uncharted territory", he stated gravely, before he gave a light laugh and withdrew a jar from within his robes. "Terribly dramatic, isn't it?" I nodded, but was too busy examining the container he produced to reply. Within it were several strips of paper – they were the correct size and shape to remind me of the litmus strips I was familiar with using to test for acidity. He drew one out, taking great care to grasp it at its very bottom.

"Extend your hand please", he asked, and when I did as requested, he placed the tip of the strip against my hand, before immediately withdrawing it. For a moment, nothing happened and I was about to open my mouth to voice a question when the tip of the strip burst into flame. Honda seemed to be expecting this, because he flicked the strip of paper up into the air and allowed it to burn away in the air – saving his fingers. The whole thing took an instant, but the man seated across from me was entirely unperturbed.

"Is that normal?" I was mystified.

"_Hai._ These strips are soaked in an oil that is sensitive to what we call _Rhun_ – a term similar to what the Chinese call Qi – life energy, in short. When the oil is exposed to _Rhun_, it ignites. The strength of the resultant flame indicates the amount of _Rhun_. A Shikabane, which has no _Rhun_ of its own and has to acquire it through killing, or through a contracted monk, would not ignite the oil."

He looked up at me and produced another one of his distant smiles. "I think that puts to rest the question of your humanity – to be honest, your _Rhun_ ignited the oil with greater than average force. Not enough to be abnormal, of course – after all, you are in the prime of your life."

He drew a scalpel and set aside the container of _Rhun_ strips. Continuing to draw items from within the folds of his cloak, he swiftly assembled a sanitizing kit, as well as a stopwatch. He collected the watch and the scalpel and spoke: "I'm going to take a blood sample." I nodded my head to demonstrate my understanding, and offered him my hand again. He cut an inch along the face of my little finger, which immediately began welling blood – simultaneously, the monk activated the stopwatch. Honda scooped up a nearby alcohol wipe and cleared the initial weep of crimson before producing a small vial to place against the cut. It slowly began to fill with rich crimson, until was removed. A second or two more passed until the wound ceased to bleed, and Honda indicated a lap on the stopwatch. He continued to examine the small gash for a minute or so, until he stopped the watch and spoke.

"You heal very fast. Even for a cut that size, granulation tissue appearing under two minutes is many times faster than your normal person." Collecting a notebook lying near at hand, he began jotting against it even as he explained the results to me – a habit I always appreciated in medical testers. "You're still nowhere near a Shikabane though. If you shot one of them in the abdomen, they would heal in minutes, not hours. You can sever entire limbs from Shikabane and they regenerate within a day or so."

"I'd, uh… like to waive that particular test."

Honda smiled thinly and nodded his head. "I imagine."

The rest of the tests were strange – mostly involving Honda performing various rites and sacraments read out of the tomes he had recovered and determining their effects on me. Many of them were incredibly complex, and it was a few hours before Honda, looking worn, announced that we were finished.

"We have a section of our Gon-Sojo dedicated to scientific matters", he revealed, "as we found not keeping up with technology was a significant error. A few of them specialize in cellular biology and work in a laboratory we have constructed under the pagoda. We'll send your blood sample down there for them to examine if the differences in your blood are molecular. We have a few samples of Shikabane tissue to compare it to."

When I arched my eyebrow in surprise at this – particularly after his comments about having defiled flesh around – he explained. "I'm sure someone has mentioned in your presence the clinic that was uncovered at Ikai. After those events, we began examining Shikabane flesh to see how it could potentially affect humans exposed to it."

"And?"

"We're still trying to sort through it. Though it doesn't make sense, the best we can tell is that it is some sort of transformation. You're familiar with the term?"

"_Hai._ I was a biology major." He was referring to cellular transformation, which was a process in which bacterial cells engulfed foreign DNA they came across in their environment and incorporated it into their own genetic material. It wasn't something the human body performed in normal circumstances – which was presumably why they couldn't make sense of it.

"Really?" Honda seemed surprised, before he spoke pensively. "I could have sworn someone told me that it was philosophy…"

* * *

><p>Honda ushered me out of the examination room and back into the hallway, excusing himself in the process. Natsumi was waiting outside with her back pressed against the wall, and as we emerged, she pushed away from her relaxed pose. The Sojo offered us both a nod of parting and made to move off down the corridor, the vial of blood he had drawn from me still in his hand. Natsumi beckoned and began walking in the other direction, back towards the stairs to the ground level.<p>

We had descended the stairs in silence and were halfway to the main entrance of the pagoda when she finally spoke simply: "I'm sorry."

"Come again?"

"I was preoccupied with what happened with the Shikabane. I shouldn't have left to make my report until I knew you could get out of Kabuchiko."

I hadn't expected an apology from her. She kept her eyes levelly ahead as we passed back out of the Shogi at the entranceway and began descending the steps to the pathway before the main building. She took one of the branching arteries and moved towards a smaller, single story building near the perimeter wall of the complex.

"It wasn't your fault. I wasn't fast enough getting out. Besides, the blame ultimately is with the Yamaguchi. They're the ones who tried to kill me."

"Still." We walked in silence after she spoke, the ambient humming of the monks meditating on the grass supplying a peaceful ambiance to our conversation. The testing had taken longer than I had initially judged, and the sun was more than halfway across the sky – I judged it to be about four in the afternoon.

"Have you considered that you're taking more responsibility now than you did when you were the one who pulled the trigger?" I raised a brow as we neared the entrance of the building.

She snorted. "Don't hold a grudge."

"Alright."

She opened the door and led me inside, before she turned down a short corridor and came to a single door. She indicated it with a wave of her hand: "This is yours." She stood aside.

I thanked her and was about to open it before she spoke again, the corner of her lips curling up slightly.

"Oh, by the way. After we got word that you'd been attacked, Saki and I went to see if we could find you. We picked something up from your apartment when we found you had gone."

I threw the door open wide and peered inside. Set on the floor in the centre of the room was my unwillingly abandoned television. It was still inside its box. I wondered if the temple got cable service, and turned to ask Natsumi – but she was already walking away down the hallway. _A question for another day._

I closed the door behind myself and examined my room. It was nice – a floor-to-ceiling Shogi screen at the back of the room led out onto a private porch. There was a wicker chair situated in the corner beside the bureau, and the bed was a King. Apparently the Kougon sect was used to receiving fairly well-to-do visitors. My duffle bag was laying empty beside the door to the closest, and I crossed to look within. I was both surprised and relieved to find the closet was well stocked – someone had taken my measurements and then upon themselves to go shopping on my behalf. _I can finally change into a different set of clothes._ There, set on a hanger at the end of the closet was my duster. Someone had washed the blood from it.

I closed the closet and turned to the bed, pulling my shirt off over my head as I did so and kicking out of my jeans. I wanted to lie down for a little while, just to get my head straight. I settled down on the bed and was asleep in minutes.

* * *

><p><em>"We have an id on that girl you wanted us to check out, Toro."<em>

_"Oh?" Mr. Frustrated again._

_"Yeah – apparently that girl gets around. She's been sighted in a lot of shady circumstances in Tokyo over the past few years."_

_"I'm not surprised. The American has no taste in company."_

_"Might want to reconsider that – apparently she also has something to do with this monastic sect out of Asakusa. She's been seen coming and going out of their complex."_

_Mr. Frustrated grunted. "Any sign of the foreigner?"_

_"No. We've had someone watching the entrance of the temple, but if he's in there, he's not come out."_

_"Can we go in and get him?"_

_"I don't know. The sect looks to be martially inclined. And it's a big one. There's probably a hundred monks in there. I'd be a big job. We might be better trying to get him to come out to us. At the very least we'd need a distraction if we tried to grab him."_

_Mr. Frustrated was drumming his fingers on the surface of the desk before him._

_"…Alright then."_

* * *

><p>I woke up later than I had thought. The ordeals of the day before and the tests had left me drained. The Shogi screen was dark – the sun had already set. I leaned over to recover my phone to check the time. Nine forty-five. I noticed that I had received a message, and I opened it, blinking my eyes to clear them. It was the name of a local bar. The name at the bottom of the message got me out of bed immediately.<p>

I got dressed in a fresh set of clothes quickly and crossed to the door. I opened it and stepped out into the hallway, retracing my steps to the foyer of the building. It contained a small arrangement – a couch, a few armchairs and a table. Natsumi and Saki were seated on the couch – Natsumi slowly turning the pages of a book and the blonde child beside her fiddling manically with a handheld game. They both looked up as I entered.

"Going somewhere?" Saki's voice was full of skepticism.

"I was planning to. Are you watching me?"

"Sojo Aragami has posted us here in case you tried to leave." Natsumi closed her book and set it down in her lap, fixing me with a pointed stare.

"Did she tell you to stop me if I did?"

"Not specifically."

"I'm going out", I said firmly.

"I'll go with you." Saki put down her handheld device and made to scoop up something I hadn't initially recognized from where it was propped at the edge of the couch. It was a giant golden-trimmed hammer – the sort that was ritually used to ring massive prayer bells. It was bigger than she was, but she lifted it with ease.

"I'm going out to a _bar_", I clarified to the girl, and she scowled at me.

"He's fine, Saki." Natsumi picked up her book again and opened it, finding her place as she spoke. "He's tough enough to know his limits." She looked over the top of her reading to me before she spoke again. "There's a side gate behind this building. Use that."

I nodded and went past them, Saki flopping back down onto the couch with a sullen little grunt. "I never get to do anything", she muttered as I pushed open the door and stepped out of the building. It was surprisingly cool after sunset, and I momentarily regretted leaving my duster – but this was risky enough without such a trademark look. I circled around behind the building and found the gate that Natsumi had mentioned. I pushed it open and glanced out. Unlike the main gate, it didn't lead to the street, but into an adjacent building to the temple. _Clever._ I stepped through the gateway and closed it behind myself, before moving towards the door of the attached building that led to the street outside. I stepped out into the foot traffic – mainly tourists flocking over Asakusa – and hailed a cab.

The bar wasn't far from Asakusa – it was in the next district over, in Bunkyo, near the University of Tokyo. When I arrived and got through the door, I was relieved to find that the majority of the patrons were predictably college kids, drinking at the bar. Most of them looked like they wrote poetry – none like they were members of seedy underworld gangs. There was one that stood out however. Middle aged, he leaned against the bar, his sandy blonde hair tousled and well maintained. He looked gaunt – he had always been thin, but it was almost unhealthy now. As I watched, he pushed his glasses up his nose and glances about suspiciously. Maneuvering through the crowd, I approached him.

"Robert. You look terrible." He started slightly when I spoke to him. He had a pint of lager that he was nursing in his hand, and another one on the bar beside him. He lifted his chin indicatively towards the second pint and I hefted it up into my hand.

"I feel terrible. At least I haven't been shot."

"Heard about that, did you?"

"You're looking well, all things considered."

Robert Barret had been the head of the research and development department for a genetic engineering firm, VeriSci, where I had worked as a lab technician during my two years as a graduate student at Columbia. Unlike a lot of executives, he had actually been fairly active in the labs themselves, often checking up on our work and being generally friendly with the technicians. As I considered his words, I looked him over. He did look terrible. Dark circles were under his eyes and he look dog-tired.

"What's going on, Rob? I thought I wasn't supposed to see anyone from VeriSci anymore."

"I'm not with VeriSci anymore. I was replaced."

"Sorry about that."

We sipped our respective drinks for a moment, but I wasn't really in the mood for a social pint and it showed. We descended into an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Robert spoke again.

"Tell me everything you know about the last assignment you were working on at VeriSci."

I blinked in surprise and turned my glass in my hand for a short time. It was a strange question for him to ask – Robert had been on board with the experiment from phase one. He knew all about it. I guessed he was just seeing how much I actually knew. I started to speak.

"We were working with a retrovirus." A retrovirus was a specific viral form that contained mRNA as its genetic material rather than the usual DNA. DNA is usually transcribed into RNA which is then used to produce protein. When a retrovirus infected a cell, however, it worked backwards, turning its RNA into DNA that would then hijack the host cell's own DNA. The host cell would then transcribe the foreign DNA into its own mRNA and begin producing viral proteins.

"We altered the mRNA in the virus so that when it was reverse-transcribed it would produce genes that coded for specific proteins that, instead of produce more viral material would produce proteins that would work more effectively than the naturally occurring protein in the human cells. The ultimate performance enhancer."

I allowed a pause before I spoke again. "We didn't receive government approval – the process was too radical. But you and the other executives believed the process was radical because it represented a new step in scientific achievement. Without government approval, we couldn't perform public tests. Instead we started doubling our own staff as test subjects."

I spoke very slowly and very clearly as I went on – I felt that this portion of the presentation needed to be stressed. "The results were disastrous. Of the one-hundred and twenty test subjects, one-hundred and nineteen died. Errors in the transcription process led to their cells producing proteins that had lost function rather than increased it, many of which were required to sustain cellular metabolism. They died, and each one of them horribly." He winced and looked down at his drink, and fidgeted a foot slightly against the ground as I went on. "There was a single survivor – who had a naturally immunity to the virus and wasn't infected to the extent that would have been lethal. Rather than dying, his body managed to reject the virus before it could kill him. He was paid a sizeable amount in hush money and encouraged to leave the country. The project, on your order, was scrapped immediately and buried." I looked skeptically at Robert. "Did I miss anything?"

He had stopped fidgeting and was pensively sipping at his pint again – which was half gone. He lowered it to reply: "That was almost right. But you were wrong on one count, and omitted a few others." He looked aside at me. "Firstly, the one survivor didn't reject the virus. He was infected just the same as the rest of the subjects. However, unlike his late companions, the virus worked perfectly on him."

"But we found no traces of enhanced protein in his tissue."

Robert sighed. "Laz, in the scramble to shut down the project, we didn't give your blood enough time to demonstrate detectable levels of the enhanced protein. You had left the company by the time it was noticed."

I felt my expression darken. "Why were you still working with my blood after the project was closed?"

"I told you I was replaced. The board of directors removed me. Marcus Vert took over the head of research and development." Marcus Vert had been one of the lab heads at VeriSci. He had been a violent, rangy man who pushed his techs to work overtime. He usually got results, however. I could see why they replaced Robert with Vert. They needed someone aggressive to recover after the disaster. "He reactivated the program in order to examine its results. Without making them public, he believed he could sweep them under the rug, learn from the mistakes. Marcus Vert isn't looking to enhance human capabilities anymore. He's got different ideas."

Robert paused and glanced over towards me. "Now for what you missed – this project was in development long before you started working at VeriSci. We had our goal – the production of enhanced proteins leading to enhanced human performance. We had our vehicle – a reengineered retrovirus to deliver the proteins into the nuclei of the host hells. What we didn't have was the enhanced proteins that we wanted to produce. We had nothing to base the engineered mRNA on. We started looking for naturally occurring proteins to examine."

"The initial work was varied. We looked at great apes. We looked at other primates. We even got into looking at feline and Chondrichthyes protein. But they were all either too dissimilar from the human proteins we wanted to change, or weren't as enhanced as we wanted. It took a long time of searching, but we eventually found a single source that contained greatly enhanced proteins that nearly matched human molecules – simply hyper efficient versions. It was a miracle. Half of our work was done for us – we didn't have to engineer the mRNA anymore. We could simply copy over the mRNA from the source tissue that coded for the proteins we wanted."

I saw where this was going. Though most advanced life on Earth is surprisingly similar genetically, individual proteins generally were rather varied. There was only one source I knew of that would fit what Robert was describing to me.

"You were using Shikabane tissue."

"Yes. By digesting Shikabane mRNA down to specific genes coding for specific proteins and using the retrovirus to transport it into the human body, we managed to avoid the total cellular transformation that occurred when human cells were exposed to pure Shikabane genetic material. We could limit it to only the proteins that would advance human potential – the proteins your cells are producing now."

"…That explains a few things." My ability to regenerate, for one.

"But that's not all."

"No?" I waited.

"I hadn't been removed completely from the company when Vert took over. Do you remember John Anders?" I did. John Anders had been a contemporary of Marcus Vert, and had headed the specific lab that I worked in. Anders had been well past retirement age – seventy three if I recalled – but had continued working simply because he loved the job. He had been an excellent mentor to the college students doing the grunt work in the labs. "Anders took special interest in your blood. He and I both felt very strongly that reactivating the program was a serious mistake. He was the one who uncovered that you had been our singular success."

"He also was the one who engineered a failsafe into the initial experiment. You see, there's a _reason_ that the human body doesn't have such advanced proteins. We can't sustain them. They tax our metabolism too much – they'd burn your cells out. Anders removed a gene from the retrovirus – it coded for a catalytic enzyme that served to active the other enhanced proteins. Without it, the majority of them would remain inert."

His beer was gone by now. I had long since forgotten mine, which was sweating on the bar. "When Anders realized that you had been successfully infected, he produced a batch of this enzyme." He produced a leather wallet and opened it for me. Inside, Velcro loops held a dozen clear glass vials in place, each containing a milky solution and affixed with a tiny hypodermic needle and plunger. "He tested it on your blood samples. Each of these doses is enough for about five minutes of full activation, until the enzyme is consumed. Your cells won't have a tolerance at first – the side effects the first few times around going to be pretty bad." He held out the wallet.

"Do you know how it'll affect me?"

"How could we? You were the only survivor. We had no one else to test it on."

"Where's Ander's now?" I took the wallet from him and made to fold it into my pocket.

"Dead." _What?_ "After he gave me the enzymes, he went to destroy the research that he had left on the VeriSci mainframe. He managed to delete a good portion of it, but he was caught. Vert had him killed."

"Jesus. He was a grandfather."

"They're not fucking around, Lazarus. They know they have a serious loose end running around."

"…Me."

"Right."

I thought to myself for a moment or two. "How long ago did all this happen?"

"About three weeks ago." Robert was looking guilty now.

"You knew two weeks before I left America that the deal was off the table. You let me go anyway." _That Shikabane on the plane wasn't a coincidence._

"Yes."

"…Why?"

"I have them tied up in a legal battle back in the States over VeriSci's activities. But Japan has an abnormally high concentration of Shikabane. Vert opened a branch in Tokyo in response. You're the biggest hole in their plans, Lazarus. They didn't account for your survival and certainly not for the success of the phase one experiment. Not to mention you're already in with the Kougon Sect. Do me a favor and pass on VeriSci as a company they're going to want to check out."

"…Alright." The conversation was winding down.

When I returned to the temple, Natsumi and Saki weren't in the foyer of the guest building. I went to bed and turned out the light. I lay awake for a long, long time.

* * *

><p><em>A figured moved down the hallway, consindering each of the Shogi doors as it passed. He was carrying a bundle underneath one arm. He was very nervous. He fidgeted and glanced about one more time. <em>Had anyone seen him enter?_ He didn't know. He had to get out of here as soon as possible. He turned to one of the panels of the wall and slid it out of place. The space behind the panel before the wall was just large enough for his purpose. He stooped and placed his package in the space. There were a few tones as he dialed something, before he replaced the panel._

_He fled._

* * *

><p>I awoke to a knock on my door the next morning.<p>

"Give me a minute", I grunted through my sleep. I could remember my dream perfectly this time. It had occurred inside the pagoda of the main temple. I blinked and shook my head to clear it, before getting up to rifle through my closet for some clothes.

Natsumi was at my door.

"Someone wants to see you." She didn't look pleased at all. I followed her out into the hallway and then the foyer, and out of the exterior doorway. It was early in the morning, yet several monks were already meditating in the yard. We bypassed them and navigated towards the main temple. She wasn't speaking this morning, and seemed sullen. I didn't push my luck as we ascended into the pagoda.

She didn't lead me down the hallway. Instead she led me directly across the hallway to one of the Shogi that lead to the centre courtyard I had noticed on my first visit to the pagoda. She slid it open and I passed through. When she closed the door without following after me, I turned to examine the garden. There was only one occupant – a young woman sitting on a bench beside the reflecting pool, watching the cherry blossoms float on its surface. Though she was only a year or two my senior, she had an oxygen tank and a mask upon her face. As I approached, she looked up at me and smiled through the barrier.

"Hello", she greeted softly once she had detached her mask. "I am Maruno Hikari."

"Er… hello. I'm Lazarus." I wasn't really sure where this was going.

"I know who you are. Natsumi has spoken volumes about you." She saw my surprised and smiled. "I am her contracted monk."

* * *

><p>"They say it is some sort of lung cancer. I'm not very technical, so their explanations tend to go over my head." Hikari was speaking wistfully as we watched the little boats formed by the blossoms sail about on the surface of the pond. I didn't know how to reply to that, so I didn't.<p>

"I am glad you've come. Really." She spoke with a sudden sort of earnest that surprised me for someone in her frail condition. "I was worried no one would come. When I was first diagnosed, they told me I might live for a long while. So we had time. But then the months passed and no one came and I thought they might never come."

She was confusing me now. "I'm… not sure I'm following you, Hikari."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course. I have been in this temple for so long, I forget that some people aren't monks – and don't understand." She smiled, which made her next words surprising. "I'm dying. I have been dying for many months. I have accepted this. What I cannot accept is what will happen to Natsumi."

"Is that so?"

"_Hai._ Do you know what happens to a Shikabane Hime when their contracted monk dies?"

I thought back to what Honda had told me about _Rhun_, and how a Shikabane required an alternate source. "Nothing good", I ventured.

"Nothing good", Hikari echoed, before she smiled and considered the reflecting pool. "Without my _Rhun_ to sustain her, Natsumi will either die, or become a wild Shikabane, forced to kill to live. The Sect will kill her immediately."

I looked down at my lap. I didn't know what Hikari wanted me to say. I couldn't cure cancer, that much was certain.

"Do you know what Natsumi's regret is?" Hikari was still examining the pond in a distant sort of way. "The one that caused her to return as a Shikabane?"

I shook my head silently.

"Her grandmother was taken seriously ill. She was the only other surviving family member, and the treatment for the illness was very expensive. Natsumi tried desperately to make the money necessary to finance her care. She took a job with some… unscrupulous people. The jobs they had her doing were not pleasant – and one night a rival group had her killed. Knowing she had failed and her grandmother was doomed brought her back."

I felt my heart slowly dropping down into my stomach again. "Your condition must be very hard on her then." My voice was a whisper.

"_Hai", _Hikari said, before she spoke. Her hands, skeletal and wasted, had begun pulling at the hem of her modest skirt. "But it's not my condition I'm worried about. It's Natsumi's."

"We could transfer my contract to someone else to save her." Hikari turned her pale grey eyes up towards me as she spoke, her voice soft as she sought not to strain herself. "But there is a problem. For a Shikabane to form a bond with a person, there has to be a connection – some sort of empathy. Without it, the bond won't complete." She reached one of her hands up and placed it on my arm, just above my elbow. "Natsumi doesn't bond very easily with anyone. I was very worried that no one would come", she repeated softly.

"I see." My jaw worked slowly from side to side once I had replied. This was all becoming very complicated.

"I don't think you do, Lazarus." Her reply surprised me, and she saw it plainly. "It would be my eternal _regret_ if I were to drag Natsumi down to die with me."

Now I saw. She saw that in my face as well, and inclined her head slightly before she spoke. "I am not in the ground yet. We don't have to come to a decision just now. But I did want to meet you, while I was still strong enough to explain." She smiled up at me, and in that moment her smile transformed her face so thoroughly, it was hard to believe she was anything but a healthy young woman. "You've given me something to hope for, even now! Send Natsumi in when you go – I need to tell her of what she must do."

I nodded and sat for a time, before I slid my hand down to where she rested hers upon my arm and caught it up to my lips. A gesture from a dead age. She smiled nonetheless at me, and I turned to leave. As I slid the Shoji screen open, Natsumi straightened from her slouch against the wall and moved past me urgently towards where Hikari sat. I stepped out into the hallway and reached into my pockets in search of my mp3 player. As I fumbled with the headset, I turned to watch the two young women sitting on the bench beneath the cherry tree. Hikari was speaking softly. Natsumi's back was turned to me, but her shoulders shook as she wept silently. I thumbed the shuffle.

Vienna Teng. _The Tower._

I closed the screen behind me.


	5. Chapter 5: How to Become Clairvoyant

**Chapter 5: Becoming Clairvoyant**

I closed the door behind me and left the two women in the garden in peace. It was still early in the morning and I wasn't sure how to spend the rest of the day. I was on the verge of returning to my room to hook up my television with the goal of helping me waste time, when the broad form of Hayate moved down the hallway towards me. He lifted an equally wide hand in order to flag me down, so I stood and waited for him.

"Lazarus. Sojo Aragami and Takamine wanted to speak with you."

"Alright."

"You remember the way?"

I nodded that I did and had turned to move towards the stairs that stood a distance down the hallway before something occurred to me and I glanced back to Hayate.

"Hayate – did you or Taichi go shopping for me yesterday? There were new clothes in my room when I got there."

"_Hai._ I went. The Kougon Sect anticipated that you would have left most of your possessions behind."

"_Arigato._ How much do I owe you?" I asked as I reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet. He raised his hands in order to stave me off.

"The sect covered the bill. You don't owe me anything. They supplied the funds when they asked us to take care of getting anything you needed outside of the temple, seeing as it is too dangerous for you to go out to shop."

"Huh." I fiddled with my billfold for a minute before I opened it anyway. "Do you have a pen, Hayate? There's a few more things I needed."

Hayate rifled about inside his robe for a moment before withdrawing a small memo pad. _He's really well prepared._ He offered it to me in addition to a small stub of a pencil, and stood back as I scribbled a few things down. I passed it back to him in addition to enough yen to cover the purchases. I told him I had the fabric to pay my own way and needn't be a burden. He seemed to accept this as it was given and I left him behind, moving beyond him to the stairs and Sougen's office beyond.

I pushed the door open before me and stepped through. Sougen was seated behind his desk with Kamika in her usual position as his rearguard, while Rika was standing with a hip braced against the desk's lip. Saki was seated in one of the chairs, her legs kicking as her fingers fiddled with the buttons of her handheld. With the exception of the dead child, they all glanced up towards me as I entered.

"You were looking for me?"

"_Hai._" Sougen indicated the other chair again to me, and I crossed to accept the offer. Once I had settled down, Rika spoke.

"The Gon-Sojo have given a preliminary report about your bloodwork." _Shit._

She examined her clipboard, to which a document had been pinned. She turned the page over and read the reverse before she spoke. "They found some interesting things. There are some key factors in your blood that resemble factors found in Shikabane flesh. They're not as concentrated though. For some reason, your body is producing minute amounts of molecules exclusive to Shikabane."

She looked over the top of the clipboard at me. "It's possible that when you were exposed to Shikabane flesh, your body's immune system managed to prevent a complete transmutation, and you underwent a partial transformation prior to defeating the foreign tissue." I was fine to let them believe that. She placed the clipboard down on the desk, working her tongue around her mouth thoughtfully. "They're experimenting to see if they can confirm that and determine what natural immune factors you have that prevented the change. After that, they'll examine to see if we can replicate the results."

She stared at the clipboard for a moment more before Sougen spoke. "Be careful of Honda. We're all intrigued by this development, but he and the Gon-Dai Sojo want to use it to replace the Shikabane Hime – whereas we would use abilities such as yours to supplement them. It's been a long standing goal of their bloodline to be rid of Shikabane Hime. Having something to replace the young women with will greatly strengthen their arguments."

He fixed me with a steady look for a time and I met his gaze. In his calculating eyes I could see that he was aware I knew more than I was letting on, but because of the circumstances, he was glad for it. I nodded my head marginally and he returned the gesture soberly before he spoke again.

"We've also had words with Maruno Hikari. Transferring a contract to a non-monk is rare, but it has happened before, particularly under circumstances where there wasn't another option. The sect will assist in the transfer if you decide to go ahead. Though her time is near an end, she is not in danger of dying suddenly, so do not be pressured. We advise you discuss the matter with Natsumi at the very least."

"_Hai._" I wasn't sure how I felt about taking on a contract – by the very meaning of the word it would be binding, and everything had been so chaotic since I had arrived in Japan. I was about to remark on something to that effect when loud footfalls sounded from beyond the doorway, and it was thrown open. Taichi stood there, breathless.

"Sojo! There's been a bomb threat. We need to evacuate the building." I felt my stomach drop out from beneath me.

Kamika, who had been silent until this point, stepped forward past Sougen and spoke. "Has it been verified?" Her voice was rich and low, and every bit as serious as she looked.

"We're working on it, but it seems pretty serious. The Gon-Dai Sojo and Dai-Sojo have already left. Everyone else is vacating the complex. The Metropolitan Police have been informed and they're sending technicians. But we have to go."

Sougen grunted his understanding and rose smoothly from his seat. Even as he walked, he maintained his militaristic straight-backed pose. Rika was less composed, and was fluttering about frantically collecting up documents from the desk. With Kamika following along behind him with sword drawn, he stepped from the office and into the hallway. Rika finished collecting up the documents, and I spoke to her.

"Come with me."

She looked confused but I turned and left the office at a run – which apparently was enough to motivate both her and Saki to follow after me, the girl scooping up the massive bulk of her hammer as she did so. I moved back to the stairs at speed and took them three at a time, nearly spraining my ankle as I dismounted. I turned in the opposite direction from the exit and began sprinting down the hallway.

"Wrong way, Lazarus!" Rika's cry followed after me, but I didn't stop. I could hear her dropping papers behind us as she attempted to keep up, and behind her a rhythmic grunt of effort – Saki as she churned her much smaller legs madly in a bid to keep up. I turned a corner and paused for a moment, my hands moving up to my head to rake through my hair as I tried to remember. Rika had caught up and was about to ask a breathless question when I took off again down one of the side corridors. She swore and raced after me.

I found where I was going and slid to a halt, nearly losing traction on the polished wooden floors of the corridor. I turned to the wall and felt along it with my fingertips until I found a found the seam of the panel. It was slightly loose already.

"Lazarus, what's going…" Rika had caught up, panting heavily, but before she could finish, I tore the panel off the wall and she caught her words in her throat.

The bomb blinked up at me. There wasn't a digital clock display like in the movies. The readout had a strange series of flashing lights that slowly changed configuration as Rika and I stared on in horror. The display was attached to a solid steel casing that housed the rest of the mechanism. It looked like it weighed twenty pounds.

It looked like it would make a hell of a mess.

"Can you disarm it?" Rika whispered. _What?_

"Disarm it? I'm a scientist, not a bomb technician!"

She was about to reply when Saki caught up, her childish face flushed and red from exertion. She took the situation in at a glance, and decided on the best course of action available to her. Without slowing down or losing momentum, she wound up with the massive weight of her hammer and swung heavily at the bomb. I threw myself out of the way as the heavy blow smashed against the device with a hellish clang. I had my arms up over my head to protect myself from the resultant blast, but it never came. I looked up and saw Rika standing up over me, her hands clasped to her cheeks, staring at Saki in shock, who was standing there surveying her work proudly.

"What did you _do?_" Her wail was high and hysterical.

"Kill't it", Saki replied, her voice low and confused as she started up at her panicking partner. I heard Rika squall something about bombs being nonliving, but by then I had stopped paying attention and had scrambled back to the crater in the wall where Saki's blow had impacted. The bomb was more or less intact, though the digital readout had burnt out and the steel case was cracked in places. _What a hit._

"Is it still active?" Rika was whispering over my shoulder as I considered the device.

"I don't know. She might have just knocked the readout dead. The bomb could still be counting down internally."

"What do we do?"

I thought about that for a moment before I replied. "Let's get out of here. We can tell the technicians where it is when they get here." We retreated from the stretch of hallway, Saki bringing up the rear – her hammer hanging in hand disappointedly after being chastised. We quickly reached the yard and made to move across the pathway to the main gate, where I could see the crowd of monks gathered on the sidewalk beyond. It was only as our trio was passing through the gateway did I realize there had been some sort of commotion by the way they had gathered around in a circle. They parted for Rika as we approached.

Hikari was lying on the pavement, her chest heaving. Sougen was kneeling beside her, her thin hand clasped in his as she struggled to breathe. As we neared, Kamika suddenly appeared with Hikari's oxygen tank in hand and assisted her with the mask. It took several moments but her breathing started to stabilize.

"What happened?" Rika was looking at Sougen, who shook his head.

"Hikari was nearest to the gate when the warning came in. She and Natsumi preceded the rest of us out onto the street. When we arrived, Hikari was lying here. We've been trying to get her breathing since." His voice and expression were grim.

Presently, Hikari regained enough breath to remove the mask and speak in a raspy gasp of air. "Two men… took her. Black suits. Black car." Sougen's jaw tightened slightly, but I didn't comprehend right away.

"Take who?" My question was aside to Rika. "Natsumi? She's a Shikabane. Surely they couldn't have overpowered her."

"They wouldn't have to." Rika's expression was quickly darkening to mirror Sougen's own – many of the monks around us were muttering in muted alarm. "It's part of the contract. Shikabane Hime aren't allowed to kill – or even seriously harm – human beings. The contract prevents them. All they would have to do is threaten Hikari. Not only does Natsumi care about her, but killing Hikari kills Natsumi, even if they didn't know it."

_Shit._

A wail of a siren broke through the murmuring passing through the ranks of the monks and they parted again as a heavily built truck screeched to a halt before the gate. A man wearing a Kevlar vest jumped out of the passenger side door and Rika went to meet him. Moments later, he was leading a group of technicians rapidly through the gateway, all of them wearing similar protective garments over their torsos. I went to crouch by Sougen as he watched over Hikari, who had the mask to her mouth again.

"Yakuza?" My question was simple.

"It seems so."

"They weren't here for Natsumi."

Sougen was quiet for a moment, before: "No."

"What do we do?" It was Taichi. He was speaking over my shoulder. I looked back and noticed most of the combative monks had gathered around, their broad forms hunched and their faces dark with aggression.

"We wait. They took her for a reason. We'll get a call." There was a general murmur of dissent in the wake of Sougen's comment, which he silenced with a hard glance. We didn't have to be patient for very long. Hikari was still breathing heavily when my pocket began to vibrate and I fished out my phone. It wasn't a number I recognized, but Saki had crowded in beside me and she examined the screen.

"That's Natsumi's number", she whispered.

My lips tightened as I accepted the call and held it up to my ear. I didn't say anything, so there was a moment of silence when whoever was on the other side of the phone attempted to determine if his call had been received. Finally: "Hey, is this the American?"

It was a reedy male voice.

"You've got him." My voice was as dark as my mood.

"Hey, brother!" Whoever was on the other end of the phone was cheerful. "I fished this number out of your girlfriend's phone – she's really missing you over here! Why don't you come pay a visit?"

I didn't say anything, and I heard an impish chuckle through the phone.

"We'll have someone there to pick you up, _Amerika-jin._ We have people watching your friends there, and we can see how moody they're looking, so tell them to back off." The line went dead.

"Taichi." I put my phone away in my poket.

"_Hai?"_

"Go to my room, please. I have a coat hanging up in there. Bring it to me, will you?"

"_Hai._"

He vanished through the gate, and I took a moment to look around. Most of the monks were giving me a strange communal look. A sad sort of acceptance. I smiled in the face of it, before Sougen stood to his impressive height over me.

"This is foolish. They won't release Natsumi if they have you." He was right, of course.

"There isn't much of an option right now, Sougen. I don't want to leave her in their hands for too long. They'll figure out what she is." Though his jaw worked for a moment, Sougen didn't seem to have an argument against this, so I went on. "Besides, I don't intend to go to give myself up. I have an ace in the hole." For the second time, our eyes met and he produced a subtle dip of his head in understanding.

Taichi was back, and he had my duster. I accepted it off him, but waved away the holstered Grach as he offered it to me. The Yamaguchi would frisk me long before I reached Natsumi, and I didn't want to have to lose my gun. I slipped my arms through the sleeves of the duster and swept my hands down its front in order to correct its lay.

"Suits you", Saki told me, rubbing at her nose with the back of her fist. I cracked my knuckles.

"You lot should step away from the street. They won't pull up if they think you're going to jump them."

It seemed many of the monks – including Sougen and Honda, who had appeared at our side – were considering just that. The crowd did eventually sidle back away from me in an uneasy, reluctant manner, and I was left standing on the curb alone. They clearly did have someone watching us – it was only a half-minute after I was excluded from the mob that a dark black towncar slid up like an eel and idled before me. I could feel the full weight of the glowering mass of people behind me fixate on the car as I lifted a hand and pulled the handle. The door clicked open, exposing the black, shadowy interior of the car.

I didn't look back as I ducked down into the rear seat.

* * *

><p>There were two men in the front seat of the car, but none in the back with me. There was a dark, tinted partition between me and the men in front. I was nervous initially that one of them would open fire through the partition and kill me before I got a chance, but as the car continued on and nothing of the sort occurred, I began to relax. Whatever they had planned for me was intended to happen somewhere specific. I noted dully that they hadn't blindfolded me – they considered this a one-way trip.<p>

We drove for a long time – southeast away from Taito towards the bay. The sky grew progressively dark and soon a light drizzle began to fall from the sky. _Very nice. Very atmospheric._ The buildings slowly began to transform from tall commercial buildings to squatter, darker industrial ones. _They're probably taking me to a factory._

It turned out to be a warehouse – or rather a complex of warehouses. Most appeared to be abandoned, and they drove through the deserted lots between them, the wheels of the towncar crunching insidiously against the loose gravel. We pulled up outside of one of the larger warehouses and the driver killed the ignition. There was no movement for some time, and I was wondering if I should step out when the car rocked – the passenger was stepping out. He came around to my door and opened it.

"Out."

I ran my hands down the front of my duster. _Here we go._ I slid sideways out of the street and found my feet on the gravel lot of the warehouse. The enforcer who had ordered me out was a giant. He stood as tall as Sougen had, and half again as wide. He looked down his nose at me for a moment in consideration, before he threw a fist at my abdomen. I felt the wind in my lungs blown out and had to fight to keep from retching. I doubled over and gagged for a moment, but I felt a hand on the back of my duster haul me back upright. The driver had by now joined us and went to work frisking me.

"They say you're pretty tough, American. Said you can even take bullets without slowing down. We're going to see how tough you are." The big guy's voice was dark and violent. I couldn't reply – I was still trying to work my bruised diaphragm. The driver finished frisking me and seemed disappointed not to find the gun. He said as such over my shoulder to the massive man before me, who simply shrugged his shoulders. The driver gave me a push and the three of us set out for the bay doors that hung open in the side of the warehouse. The rain was lashing now, and I was glad I brought the duster, which prevented my jeans from getting wet. I was still struggling for breath as we neared the warehouse entrance. I hunched my shoulders against the wind that was stirring, and stuck my hands deep in my pockets. The driver gave me another shove, and then we were inside the warehouse.

Most of the shelves were empty, and my two 'escorts' guided me through the labyrinth of collapsed boxes and racks that formed the interior of the warehouse. On the far side of the building there was a wrought-iron staircase that led up to the foreman's office, and the two Yamaguchi muscled me up its length, our steps echoing hollowly out into the empty, dead space of the storage area. The window set into the door displayed a sliver of dim orange light from within the room. The giant man preceding me opened the door and the driver behind me tossed me through the door. My toe caught on the jam and I stumbled through, catching myself on the wall.

Despite the dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, the room was poorly lit. Shadows lined the walls. Natsumi was there, seated in a heavy-duty steel framed chair. Her hands were cuffed behind the chair with a pair of steel handcuffs, and her ankles were likewise bound. I doubted even with her strength she could break them. The buttons of her blouse had been ripped, and it lay open to expose the pale skin of her abdomen and chest – her modesty barely saved by the dark bra that she was wearing. Aside from that, however, she didn't look too bad – they had only just grabbed her when I set out for the warehouse. Not enough time, I guessed. A man was sitting in an identical chair beside her. His hands were not bound. One of them was resting high on Natsumi's thigh, just under the hem of her skirt. He smiled like a toad as I stepped into the room.

"Well, well. Here's the man of the hour. We've been keeping your friend company while we waited, no worries." He pushed himself up from his place, leaving Natsumi behind him. She had a dirty rag in her mouth, and couldn't speak, but she was eyeing me frantically. I tried to give my bravest smile, but I didn't think I did a very good job. She didn't look reassured.

"I can tell you're worried about your girlfriend. Don't worry. She won't be lonely after you're gone." The guy before me was thin and wiry, and his suit was ill fitting – stylishly rumpled. He untucked his shirt as I watched and withdrew a thin switchblade. "They say you're pretty hard, American. Let's see how long you hold out." The two men behind me moved to block the doorway. They must have thought I was planning on running. _Boy, were they in for a surprise._

At first I was worried the rain would dilute the solution, but my duster had stopped it. I wasn't even sure if the small hypodermic needle would pierce the fabric of the inside of my pocket. When I had jabbed myself in the thigh on my way through the warehouse bay doors, and felt the warm rush of the solution entering my bloodstream as I depressed the plunger with the heel of my palm, the only question that remained was how long the stuff would take to have an effect. By now I could see the specks of rust on Wiry's razor, as he advanced on me. The big guy's breathing behind me sounded like a wind-tunnel, and I had the vertigo inducing sensation of time stretching out and pinching. When Wiry spoke again, his voice was so deep and drawn out to my mind, I couldn't understand him anymore. Whatever it was, it was clearly meant to come across insidiously, because he attempted to slash me low across the abdomen with the razor – a maiming blow.

The speed my reflexes were running at now was such a bizarre perspective shift – I realized in shock that I could suddenly see the heat coming off of this asshole's body, and the darkness that represented Natsumi's heatless mass – that I was nearly too preoccupied to block. At the last moment I came back to myself and reached out. My hand closed around the wrist of his hand that held the switchblade, and I tightened my grip immediately. I felt the bones of his metacarpals shift underneath my fingers, and his face had enough time to shift from smug surety to shocked surprise before I threw out an arching punch with all the strength I had in me. It impacted on the ridge of his cheekbones, and once again I felt the bones give way underneath my knuckles. The bones of his face and skull impacted and cracked along the length of the cranial sutures, the force of my overzealous strike caving in the side of his face and sending a fine pink mist billowing into the air. His body spun away, tumbling off into one of the pools of shadow. In my heightened state, I saw it clearly come to rest, his form propped up in a seated position against the wall.

I released with a wave of revulsion that I was still holding his arm in my hand – the force of the blow having torn it from the socket. I dropped it like it was a lit firebrand, and turned in time to find the big guy behind me reaching for his waist with a terrified look on his face. _Way too slow._ I lashed out with a backhanded strike at his cheek that snapped his head around violently. I heard a series of sharp snaps as the torque of the strike separated the cranial vertebrae in his neck, and he flopped to the ground like a landed fish.

His friend – the driver – wasn't keen on staying after that, his clawed hand reaching for the doorhandle, and scrabbling as he fought for it. To me it looked like his movements were opposed by a gale of wind – slow and awkward. I stepped forward with the momentum of my second strike against his companion and placed my hands against his chest, and supplied a strong shove that propelled him off of his feet. He hurtled across the room, his shoulder smashing into the jagged window that looked out over the exterior yard of the warehouse. The glass exploded into a fine spray of glittering gems as his hips struck the windowsill and he flipped over the rim, tumbling from sight.

And then I was alone with Natsumi, who had stilled her struggles in the chair and was staring at me in shock and no small amount of fear. _She thinks I've reverted to a Shikabane. Who can blame her?_ I didn't know how much longer the enzyme would be circulating in my system and I wanted to be well away from here when it wore off – I wouldn't be surprised if Wiry had called some friends in to watch the show and for the… afterparty. I trotted to the crumbled form of Wiry and found the ring of keys clipped to his belt. Unclipping them was easy, but it took me almost a full minute to locate the right key to unchain her hands. Fortunately, the same key unlocked the cuffs on her ankles, and I tossed the ring aside as she tugged the gag out of her mouth.

She began to voice a question before I shook my head. There wasn't time. We weren't safe. She seemed to understand my thought process and she stood up, rubbing her wrists. I moved for the door, but she went instead to Wiry, bending down in order to fish her phone out of his jacket pocket. She stood up and tucked it away in the waistband of her skirt before drawing back her foot and supplying a kick to his chest that supplied enough force to cave it in with a wet crunch. She turned back towards me and the door, and moved towards us both – her eyes still on me warily. Her blouse was still open, exposing the swell of her breasts in a manner that struck me lewd. I shrugged out of my duster and handed it to her once she had recovered the pistol from the collapsed body by the door. She slipped the coat on and closed it about her pale flesh silently and we left the office, both of us trotting through the rundown warehouse at speed. We had stepped out of the bay doors just as the lights of an approaching car rounded one of the warehouses at the end of the row. We turned and moved down the side of the building we had exited, following the alley it formed with the next to the adjacent row.

I heard a shout from behind us. _They found the guy who went out the window._ But my concerns were swept away a moment later. I was hit in the back of the head with a blow so firm it took me a moment to realize it was _internal_ and that I wasn't being physically attacked. I staggered and Natsumi stopped a pace ahead of me. She said something to me, but I couldn't make it out, and I sought the wall of the warehouse with my hand to steady myself. My stomach rebelled violently and there was no stopping it this time – I retched and vomited. The sky was still dark, but I was pretty sure I saw blood in it. _Christ, Robert. The side effects would be 'pretty bad'?_ By now, Natsumi was yelling my name, but it sounded distant and distorted, like my head had been submerged. It took me several second to find the strength to lift my head to look at her, but the vision in my left eye was going – it was like looking through the surface of a pond in a rainstorm. I could make out the grave look she was wearing, and that her stolen pistol was in hand. As I watched, she lifted it and began firing back over my head, each round sounding like the muffled roar of a distant cannon.

Her hand closed around my wrist and she tugged at me, dragging me along after her as she moved down the alley and then parallel down the row in an attempt to flank out of the way of our pursuers and back onto the street. My feet were heavy and failed to respond to my commands or Natsumi's encouragement. The toe of my shoe dug into the muddy gravel and I fell to my knees, the ragged stones of the yard cutting at me through my jeans. My stomach churned and I was sick again – mostly air now and saliva that hung from my bowed lips in ropes. I was dimly aware of Natsumi's arm going fully around my waist and the strength of her pulling my back to my feet. She fired another series of rounds behind us and then threw her empty pistol aside. Whatever was happening to me was like being uncontrollably, sickeningly drunk – my consciousness was flicking in and out like a slideshow, and before long, I could remember nothing at all.

* * *

><p>I blinked and opened my eyes. The room was dark and unfamiliar to me. I couldn't immediately remember what had happened – that sinking feeling that comes with being too drunk to recall what you've done or who you've spoken too. All you know is that you've made a horrible mess of things. The fan was spinning lazily, and each pass of the wide blades cut the air with a whisper that sounded deafening to me. My skull was pounding and my mouth was completely dry – my stomach complained, void of anything to occupy it. After an internal struggle for several long minutes, bits and pieces began to come back to me – though after Natsumi left her pistol, there wasn't much I could make out. It took my almost a full minute to come to my senses enough to discern I wasn't alone in the bed.<p>

She was lying on her side beside me, the covers pulled down to her hips. She hadn't had an opportunity to find another shirt – her ripped blouse had been discarded and she was topless save for the velvet black of her bra. My mind was several steps behind my eyes, which spent a moment in admiration of the contrast the garment had with the creamy skin it restrained before I forcibly made them life to her face. She had let her hair down before getting into bed – and as she lay there overnight, an inky ringlet had fallen down across her face to rest on her cheek. She was staring at me, eyes open and wide as saucers – dark and liquid with worry. Her lips were in a fearful purse.

"_Ohayo gozaimasu._" My voice was a cracked, parched whisper of its normal self. I licked my lips and got nothing.

"How do you feel?" Natsumi's voice was quiet and hesitant, as nervous as the gaze she was fixing me with.

"Hung over." I closed my eyes as I spoke.

"Then you won't have to pretend. I told the staff at the check-in that you had too much to drink." I didn't respond to this, and she spoke again in an even lower whisper: "You scared me." She sounded upset and I opened my eyes again and saw it in her face – her teeth had closed over her lower lip.

"I bet. I scared myself." It was true.

"What _was_ that? Did someone give you a soma to drink?"

"A what?"

"It's a mixture the monks drink to heighten their strength, though it wears them out quickly." _I guess I'm not the only one with tricks._ "I guess not."

"Can we talk about that later?" The room was still spinning for me. I didn't want to have to explain to her everything that Robert had told me. Not with my vision swimming.

"…_Hai._"

The conversation stopped for a while, but her eyes didn't leave me. It was like she was afraid I would evaporate if she turned away. After yesterday, it wouldn't surprise me if I did. Every cell in my body seemed to be vibrating with pain. I had never felt this sore.

"Did you mean what you said?" Her question came disjointedly. I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Huh?"

"When we ate on Nakamise Dori a few days ago. You said I wasn't dead. Did you mean that?" Her eyes were dark and filled with apprehension again.

"_Hai._" I took a moment to think back to what I said, and then another as to how to explain it. "I minored in philosophy." She thought I was taking the piss now, and I felt her withdraw away from me slightly. I shook my head slowly from side to side. "But I majored in virology." She didn't speak.

"When scientists first started examining viruses, they had a very clear idea of what was living and what was non-living. One of the requirements was that you had to be able to replicate yourself. And along came this… molecule that had genetic material and was capable of replicating itself. However, in order to do so, it had to hijack the cellular machinery of other organisms." She had shifted back closer to me now. I don't think she saw where I was going yet, but she was willing to listen. I lay my head back against my pillow, my eyes closing as I continued to speak.

"They didn't know what to make of it. Was it dead? Was it alive? It seemed to be 'pseudo-living', but they didn't want a new category. They wanted viruses to sit down and choose a side. There's still debate in the scientific community as to the life qualifications of viruses."

She shook her head slowly – I could hear her cheek brushing against the sheets – so I went on: "I guess what I'm saying is that just because there's an established opinion about what qualifies something to be living, or if it isn't, doesn't mean it has to dictate what you personally believe. If they knew about you, I doubt the scientific community would ever stop arguing about where you stood. At the end of the day, it's up to each one of us to look at the situation and consider where we stand. Our beliefs don't have to be validated by the common opinion, as long as we believe in them."

"But I don't know what I believe." There was a slight waver in her voice.

"That's alright." I worked my head deeper into the pillow as I spoke in a sigh. "I believe it enough for the both of us. You have time to work out where you stand."

She was still for so long that I thought I must have offended her, but then she shifted and leant closer, and I felt the coolness of her lips on my skin as she pressed them to my cheek.

"Thank you." A warm feeling was spreading from my core, but my mind was wandering back now – to before I left the temple to find her. Back to the bomb. I had a question.

"Natsumi. You said that a Shikabane's curse could be anything?"

"_Hai_", she said, the change of topic seeming to startle her somewhat.

I opened my eyes and looked around. My jeans were crumpled on the floor on my side of the bed, and mercifully there was a glass of water standing on the table near at hand. I focused on that first, tipping its contents back into my mouth in a bid to kill the horrible cottonmouth I was enduring. With that task complete, I bent over and fished out my mp3 player as she asked me why I was wondering.

"Have you ever encountered a Shikabane whose curse involved… clairvoyance?" It sounded stupid even as I said it, but Natsumi frowned and thought it over seriously.

"Curses aren't all that common. Omori was a rarity. But the ones I usually know about are the curses that can be used offensively or defensively – they become apparent in the fight. Something like clairvoyance is really passive. Aside from the Shikabane _telling_ me about its curse, I wouldn't be able to see something like that – and I haven't made a habit of talking to them before I kill them."

As she spoke, I settled back down into the sheets and listened, flicking the on switch of the player in my hand as I did so. She went on: "But there have been times where it would have made sense that the Shikabane had some sort of way to detect my coming. But that might just be me." She produced a slight tilt of her head – another one of the feminine gestures that proved she was living. "Why?" she asked again.

"Just something I've noticed." I unrolled the earplugs from about the player and took one between my forefinger and thumb. "We're going to do an experiment", I whispered, and her lips twisted into a smile as I reached for her face. The tips of my fingers brushed the lobe of her ear as I placed the bud snugly in place, and I saw her eyes flash slightly. _Another time._

"I have almost eight hundred songs on this thing." It had an eight gigabyte harddrive – half full, more or less, with my playlists. I showed her the mp3 player and she nodded gravely, playing along. The way her lips were stilled curled into her sheltered smile told me she thought I was playing about. That was fine.

Reaching out with my free hand, I caught one of hers and brought it to the face of the player, gently straightening one of her delicate fingers to place the pad against the shuffle button. The tip of my own finger sat behind it, my palm cupping her knuckles. She was still smiling at me as I looked over and asked if she was ready. She nodded once, trying not to laugh.

We pressed the shuffle key together.

Robbie Robertson. _How to Become Clairvoyant._

Natsumi was alone in her surprise.


	6. Chapter 6: Revealing

**Author's Note: **I had used a different font in the doc to represent things my character was reading on computers and stenciled on doors, but it didn't copy over very well. :(

**Chapter 6: Revealing**

"How long have you been having the dreams?" Natsumi was getting dressed. I had gone back out of the hotel and across to a little storefront. The selection had been limited. She was pulling on a white t-shirt with bold black Kanji that stated 'Kirin'; a red stenciled subscript in English read 'Kirin Ichiban: Japan's Prime Brew.' The mythological beast sharing the name of the lager was superimposed over the front of the shirt. I didn't know if Natsumi drank, but I liked the way the shirt molded to her. I forcefully drew my attention back to the question.

"…About a week now? The first one I can recollect was before I went to the Temple for the first time. Right after you shot me."

"Still going on about that?"

"No. That's just when it happened."

"Sure." She smiled slightly as she pulled the hem of the shirt down over her waist and held her arms out slightly. She seemed satisfied, and I scooped up my duster from where she had presumably tossed it to the floor the night before.

"Do you think it has to do with the Shikabane tissue that contaminated your injury?" She stood up from her perch on the foot of the bed and we moved to the door. She pulled it open and looked both ways down the hotel corridor beyond it.

"No." I spoke succinctly, and as one we stepped out of the room. No one opened fire on us. _A good start._ To be truthful, I wasn't worried about the Yamaguchi anymore. Having experienced the 'high' the solution Anders had left for me induced, I was pretty sure I could take almost anything they could throw at me – presuming they threw it all in five minutes before I started throwing my kneecaps up. After that, I was pretty useless.

"Really?", Natsumi was speaking as we padded down the richly carpeted hallway. She had discerning tastes – the hotel was pretty high class. Then I remembered that she had paid for the room using _my_ yen. I guess I was the one with good taste, then. "What do you think it is then?"

"I have an idea. But I'm not one-hundred percent on it yet." Neither the Kougon sect or Robert had shown me any documentation about the proteins in my blood. The Kougon sect was on the totally wrong path, and Robert was an executive – Anders would have done all the work on my samples – so I doubted he knew the whole story. "I want to check it out before I start jumping ahead of myself."

"Vague of you." She didn't seem entirely put out. "I've told the sect that we are okay and you were recovering. I think they got the impression you were hurt by the Yakuza again rather than by… whatever it was." She was fishing again.

"It has to do with what I'm not sure about yet, Natsumi." She huffed slightly – a strangely girlish response – and I shook my head as we returned to the lobby of the hotel. "Listen, as soon as I get it straight in my head, I'll be an open book. I promise."

"Fine."

We stepped out onto the street and I was given the opportunity to have more of my money spent on my behalf as Natsumi lifted a hand to wave down a cab without hesitation. When one consented to coast to a stop against the curb, she opened the door and preceded me into the back seat.

We sat in pleasant silence for a time, my attention focused on the buildings that floated passed as our chauffeur steered up back northwest towards Asakusa. Slowly, I grew aware of subtle movements in the corner of my eye, and flicked my eyes back to Natsumi. She had her hands clasped over her abdomen, and she was looking slightly ill, her lips pulled down into an uncomfortable frown.

"…Something wrong?" My question prompted the cab driver to glance up at his rearview mirror. He took one look at her and spoke to me.

"If she's sick, it's a ten-thousand yen charge, _Amerika-jin._"

"Keep your eyes on the road, chief. She's fine." _Asshole._

Natsumi frowned, his brows furrowing as if she couldn't figure out how to answer my question. She licked her lips and spoke in a slow, serious tone. "I feel strange. Vertigo. Like I'm looking down from the lip of a high building."

"Maybe you're falling in love."

"I don't think so." _Ouch_. She didn't seem to be paying enough attention to follow my teasing. I started to feel a touch of concern then.

"Do we need to pull over?" All things considered, I'd rather avoid the ten-thousand yen charge. The money Robert had paid me to leave America was substantial but not infinite, and I was spending it – or rather Natsumi was spending it – at an alarming rate.

"I'll be fine. We have to get back before they think something else has gone wrong." I frowned skeptically, but didn't argue. Natsumi continued to rub her abdomen for a few moments more before she tucked her feet up and swiveled on her seat to lie down. She placed her head in my lap, her forearms wrapped around her midsection. Under normal circumstances I would have been charmed, but when I reached down to place my palm on her forehead, it was covered in a sheen of sweat. She didn't have a fever – being 'dead', she was actually quite cool – but she had started shivering slightly. I looked up and found that the driver was staring at us suspiciously through the mirror, waiting to see if she'd be sick.

"Step on it, old man. Your tip is counting on it."

* * *

><p>The miser got us back to Asakusa in record time. A man of my word, I tipped him, but I wasn't feeling particularly generous. Natsumi wasn't looking well. She was out of the taxi and on her own feet, but she was swaying slightly and still gripping at her stomach absently. I placed my hand on the small of her back and guided her from the curb and through the gate of the temple.<p>

"I need to make the report, Laz", she muttered under her breath as we entered the complex, beginning the trek along the avenue towards the distant pagoda. I didn't want to let her go, but she pulled away slightly as we neared the convergence of the footpaths and went ahead. I watched her move off for a moment before I turned aside and made my way towards the guesthouse.

When I returned to my room, I found that either Hayate or Taichi had been there. There were a few bags on the bed, and – wonder of wonders – the mp3 stereo dock was already assembled on the nightstand. They'd also taken it upon themselves to assemble the television. _Some man for one man._ And then I noticed the bundle lying beside the TV. It was your typical brown package, but it didn't resemble anything I had asked Hayate to buy for me. Sitting on top of it was another item I certainly hadn't requested. It was a brown leather Stetson to go with my duster. Apparently Hayate had a sense of humour.

I put the Stetson aside and made to tear open one of the flaps of the package, shuffling backwards until my thighs hit the edge of the bed and I could sit. The cardboard took some effort to force its cooperation, but the box eventually opened with a pop. I dumped its contents onto the bed beside me. A sheet of paper was among them. I collected this and read it first.

_Lazarus: These are a pair of keycards I made prior to my departure from VeriSci. The company uses a global security algorithm to code for its cards, so they should give you access to their automated doors, should you need it for whatever reason. Good luck._

It was signed by Robert. I examined the enclosed the keycards out. They came attached to clips that could be affixed to the belt or the pocket. He had taken the liberty reusing the picture I had initially used for my access card at VeriSci. The only one was blank, but that was easily fixed. He really was serious about this. There was a stack of documents at the bottom of the box – mostly pictures of the VeriSci facility and a pilfered layout of the interior. I was leafing through them when there was a knock at the Shogi screen, and I set them aside in order to move towards the door.

Kamika was standing in the hallway when I slid the Shogi open. Sougen wasn't with her, which surprised me – she generally shadowed him around like a ghost. I hadn't noticed before, but standing before her, it became apparent she was freakishly tall. Maybe taller than Sougen himself. I blinked and she spoke.

"We need you to come now." In her serious, low voice, the phrase came across like a prophecy of doom, and declining to acquiesce was not an option. As I slid the Shogi closed behind me, I noticed that for the first time, she did not have her katana across her shoulders. I didn't know if that meant I could relax, or if I should have been more on edge. I just trailed after her as her long legs propelled her back down the hallway towards the foyer and across the yard. She forsook the use of the pathways and led me directly across the grass towards the pagoda. _We're in a hurry._

She stepped over the stairs in a single stride and I rose up after her as she threw open the main entrance of the pagoda and directed me down the corridor. We didn't have very far to walk – the first Shogi screen she came to, she pushed aside and entered. I followed her into the intimately proportioned room beyond.

Natsumi wasn't looking well. Her face was drawn and pale, one hand still clutching at her stomach. Her expression was marked by comingled apprehension and resignation, eyes downcast. But as poorly as she was doing, Hikari was taking the gold. She looked a single step removed from a classic Egyptian mummified corpse – her skin had a sallow quality and it had sunk inwards slightly in places. I hadn't noticed how thin her ankles and wrists were in the garden – I could have wrapped my forefinger and thumb around them with room to spare. Her oxygen mask was on, and though she was breathing with ragged jerks of her diaphragm, she wasn't conscious. Natsumi was clutching one of her hands.

Kamika had drifted aside to allow me to pass into the room, and as I did, I found Rika kneeling at Hikari's head. Strange spindles of shimmering silver had spread from her fingertips to coil around Hikari's body, and her eyes were foreboding, and dark with concentration. Sougen was kneeling opposite of Natsumi, his muscular arms folded across his chest and his expression his characteristic stern propriety. He looked up at me as I entered and spoke calmly.

"The shock she received yesterday has caused Hikari's condition to deteriorate. Sojo Aragami is keeping her alive, but only barely. If we're going to do this, Lazarus, it has to be now. I'm sorry."

_So much for all the time we had._ Natsumi didn't look up as I settled down at Hikari's feet. Absently, I lifted a hand and placed the palm against the side of Hikari's calf, just above her ankle. She was trembling slightly. I looked to Sougen as I felt my pulse creeping higher – every inch of me aware of the severity of the decision he was asking me. He didn't just want me to save Natsumi's life – but take total responsibility for it.

"What do we do?" When I spoke, Sougen saw that I understood the situation. He looked back down to Hikari before he stood up and waved a hand to me in order to provoke me to my feet as well.

"Switch places with me Lazarus. Take Hikari's hand." I did as I was instructed, my knees scraping the hardwood floor as I settled at Hikari's side, Sougen mirroring me at her feet. When my fingers carefully slipped through Hikari's, I was amazed at how fragile they were. I could feel every ridge of every bone in her fingers.

The sturdier, masculine hand of Sougen was offered to my left. I reached out without further prompting and took it firmly – this seemed like the sort of proceeding that required a strong grip, and his own locked down tightly on my hand. My mind was racing, and I looked across to Natsumi. We hadn't gotten the opportunity to speak about this at all. _Would she even accept?_ I didn't know.

Sougen was offering her his left hand out for her right, and the way his face was creased with anticipation betrayed that he, like myself, was uncertain. Natsumi's head was bowed and her unbound hair fell in front of her face to obscure her eyes. Several seconds passed, and I heard Rika's breathing deepening – the glow of the wires extending from her fingers were pulsing and flickering urgently. Natsumi didn't take Sougen's hand, and I felt my stomach lurch before he lifted her chin and looked across the stricken woman between us to fix her eyes on mine.

"Don't hurt me. I can't stand for this a third time." Her eyes were dry, but full of anguish. Before I could reply – offering assurances or otherwise – she reached out and caught Sougen's hand in a frantic curled grip. I knew how strong she could be, but Sougen didn't flinch. His chest expanded and he redoubled his grip on our hands before booming out a single word: "Mantra."

Like a cracking whip, I felt a bolt of energy snap through me from Sougen's hand. It coiled through my midsection and chest like a snake, before flowing down my opposite hand and into Hikari's palm. I felt it as it instantly wrapped through her frail form – felt the immediacy of her illness as it brushed against her failing lungs on its journey to Natsumi's hand. She flinched slightly as it burst invisibly from Hikari's inert hand and into her body, imbuing her with its presence as it traveled through her wracked form and back into Sougen. It was a complete circle of energy, buzzing like a current that lifted the hairs on my forearms and caused my heart to thunder into my throat.

My hands were burning. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see that they were glowing like coals, but I couldn't release my grip even if I had tried. I kept my gaze fixed across the circle, fixed on Natsumi, who was staring at me with a fixed determination so fierce I thought her eyes were glowing. And then suddenly the circle broke, snapping away from Sougen and Hikari with another whiplike oscillation. It pinched together and formed a thread through the empty space between my chest and Natsumi's, flowing along the path of the bond that connected us. And suddenly I could feel her – see her with my heart as well as just my eyes. A moment passed where we were occupying the same position in space as a single unity before the pulsing in my hands faded and the ritual concluded.

"Hikari…" Rika's whisper was soft and exhausted, beads of sweat clinging to her brow as she maintained her own connection with the dying woman. I glanced down to find Hikari's eyes had opened. She was staring at me, and as I watched, her eyes slowly slid sideways towards Natsumi, following the invisible length of the band that connected me to the girl. Through the clear, molded plastic of her mask, I saw her pale, drawn lips curl up into a smile. Her eyes closed, and the flickering lights of Rika's connection finally winked out.

Sougen unwound his hands from their grip on our hands and bent forward. He pressed his whiskered lips to the smooth surface of Hikari's forehead in a gesture that was oddly fond from a man as stoic as he was. He sat back and spoke to Kamika behind him: "Go announce Hikari's passing to the sect, Kamika – ask the Gon-Sojo to prepare the rites."

Natsumi was silent, kneeling at the side of Hikari's still form, her head bowed again. I had no words, so I reached out across the space between us absently – not for her, but in a bid to try to run my fingertips through the rope of energy that bound us together as if it were a fount of water. I fancied I felt a thrill of energy on my fingertips, but then Natsumi's hand lifted and seized my own, her fingertips earnestly winding into mine. She didn't speak, or even lift her head as she did this.

We sat in silence for a time.

* * *

><p>"Your bond was very well defined. The contract sought it out almost immediately. With a weaker bond, the joining can take hours."<p>

Sougen was behind his desk again, Kamika in her usual place. I was standing by the window, looking out across the expanse of the green yard behind the pagoda. Though the service had concluded almost an hour before, soberly robed monks were still filing out of the shrine that stood at the rear of the pagoda, having paid their respects.

"She had been ill for so long, it's hard to believe that it ended so… violently." Sougen's voice was full of distaste.

"She outlived her attackers." My tone was flat. The knowledge didn't bring me any peace.

"I don't think Hikari cared about those things."

"No", I agreed.

There was a rustle of paper as Sougen rifled through the documents on his desk. I turned to slip past Kamika and navigate around to the front of the desk. I had a feeling that we were on to business.

"Honda informed me you had a strong flow of _Rhun._ Many people lose consciousness during the joining ceremony, even if they've been trained." I folded myself back into one of the chairs that stood before his desk as he spoke. I was relieved that not all of my strength was borrowed. "That being said, now that you're contracted to one of our agents, the sect is going to have to treat you as an asset in our ongoing struggle – with your specific abilities, we're willing to waive the general combat training regimen. You seem perfectly capable, especially with your ability to affect Shikabane. You understand the situation?"

"_Hai._" I could feel the bond even now, with Natsumi absent, binding me to her like ships moored at anchor. As long as she was involved, I would be too.

"Good." Sougen spoke now as he selected another piece of paper and reviewed it. "The investigators give us reports on specific instances they have examined and believe are verified results of Shikabane activity. I have a few possibles here that Honda wants us to see to. I'll try to start you off slow…"

"Actually, Sojo, I had something specific in mind."

He looked up at me. "Oh?"

* * *

><p>It took almost an hour to drive out to the facility, and when the chauffeur parked the car, it was dark, the VeriSci labs squatting like a toad on the side of the winding road below. The whole VeriSci structure was contained within – the administrative offices, labs, and security platforms all occupied one sprawling, secure building. The company had bought out most of the land around the complex, so the floodlights illuminating the pre-dawn gloom about the facility were the only visible glow. It had been a day since Hikari died and I had made my request of Sougen. He had been surprised, but when I showed him the documentation Robert had sent to me, he conceded.<p>

Despite the apparent validity of the documentation, Sougen had explained that the Kougon sect generally operated outside of the legal spectrum. Shikabane weren't recognized as existing at all by the Japanese government, and so had no rights to speak of. However, certain branches of the executive branch knew of the activities of the sect – including the Prefectural Police. They didn't usually interfere, but the Kougon sect was expected to use judgment in any activities that had human involvement. All the staff at VeriSci were human, but the Dai-Sojo couldn't risk a full raid against a human-populated target unless he had information independently verified by his own people.

Honda had sent an investigator – Ryu – to the facility immediately after Sougen presented the documents. He had sent back the information I had specifically requested. As I stepped out of the car, I slipped my arms through the white Huey-style lab coat he had reported the technicians in the facility wore. I had picked a pair of them up at a local scientific supply depot near the University of Tokyo that catered to the student population. Ryu, who had driven back to Tokyo to transport me to the VeriSci Japan structure, stepped out from behind the wheel and spread Robert's blueprint across the hood of the car.

"According to the schematics you supplied, there's more than one entrance to the facility. The front entrance is here." He used a finger to prod a section of the map, his other hand holding the slender pen-light to illuminate the azure-hued paper that played host to the blueprint. "It's heavily guarded. There's two separate security booths and a metal detector. You won't be able to get in that way – I certainly can't."

The rear door of the car opened and Natsumi stepped out. She was nervous – I could feel that much through the bond – but not about the impending infiltration of the VeriSci complex. She didn't like the way the Huey labcoat fit her, especially the way the flap hugged the neck tight. She thought it made her look like a turtle. I had to hide a smile, but she gave me an exasperated look. The bond worked both ways.

She had her hair up in a tight bun at the base of her neck. I had to coach her into proper lab etiquette so she would know to keep her hair back and loose articles away. Labs didn't permit otherwise, due to the perpetual presence of open flames. On her on initiative, she had borrowed a pair of Kamika's glasses. I thought it was pretty stereotypical of her, but the final result was that she looked the part perfectly. As I _was_ a biology major, I didn't have to pretend.

"The side entrance is less secure", Ryu was saying, running a hand back over the shaved expanse of his head in thought. Apparently all of the investigators wore it that way – or elsewise Honda had set a trend. "There's a desk with a single guard there, but he's pretty lax. You don't have to check in – the outer door requires a keycard. Hopefully he won't look too closely at you."

"And if he does?" Natsumi had circled around the car to stand beside me, craning her neck to examine the blueprint over Ryu's shoulder.

"Then it's going to be less of an infiltration and more of an invasion. Sojo Takamine and Aragami seemed confident that Lazarus would be able to overpower a single guard before he could raise a general alarm." He looked between us – prompting Natsumi to look over at me. I shrugged. _Depends on the guard. If they have Brock Lesnar watching the side entrance, it's going to be dicey._ Ryu looked back to the blueprint. "The schematics show a microbial decontamination chamber beyond the security desk, and then its right into the lab."  
>"Once you're in, it looks like there's two different labs… unimaginatively named Alpha and Beta lab. There's a power substation at the rear of the facility. Administrative is just behind the front entrance – you'll bypass that by going in the secondary entrance."<p>

"Once we're in the labs though, we'll probably be identified as outsiders by anyone who works there. I don't think incapacitating everyone is really what the Sojo had in mind." _Or within my capabilities._

"It's Saturday today. Usually there's a few dozen technicians in there at a time, but today there's probably going to be less than ten. If you run into anyone once you're past the decontamination chamber, hopefully they'll assume you're a hire for the other lab. The only problem you're really going to have is if you run into one of the directors. They'll know all of the employees in both labs by name. They're usually up in administrative though."

I thought for a moment, but I didn't have any questions. Get in, get proof, and get out. The Kougon sect would handle the heavy lifting en masse if we could do that. Ryu folded up the blueprint and handed it to me on the chance I needed to navigate. I had programmed his number into my phone, and there was nothing left to do here – no point in delaying any further. I opened the door of the car and slid behind the driver's seat. Natsumi sat down in the passenger seat beside me, still fiddling uncomfortably with the buttons that held the neck of her labcoat shut. I heard a tap on the window and rolled it down for Ryu.

"There's one more thing. The security detail of this place is packing some seriously heavy ordinance. Most of them are outfitted with some sort of assault rifle standard with under-barrel launchers."

_You are taking the piss._

"Don't fuck with them, Lazarus", he advised with finality.

* * *

><p>I drove down the side road along the perimeter of the chain-link fence that represented the border of VeriSci's property. A T-junction emerged ahead, accompanied by a gap in the fence that allowed cars traveling down the road to pull into the lot, which was almost void of occupants, except for a few compacts standing near the doorway. Dawn was still half-an-hour away, and the sky was only just starting to brighten over the foothills that stood eastwards. I pulled into a vacant employee's spot, applied the parking brake and killed the engine. Natsumi and I stared at the door set innocently into the wall of the building. The keycard reader set chest-height in the wall beside the entrance winked a cheerful green light of readiness at us. Beside me, Natsumi inhaled a deep, steadying breath.<p>

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more." As I spoke these words, I was suddenly struck by the knowledge of how ridiculous it was – I had to stop from laughing. I could feel Natsumi's intense apprehension through the bond and it was making me loopy. _Pull yourself together, Laz._ Now it was my turn to breathe deeply, and I reached out to pull the handle of the door open and stepped out of the car, Natsumi mirroring me on the far side of the vehicle.

We had agreed to use only one of the keycards for as long as possible. If we were exposed while we were in VeriSci, they would deactivate the one they knew we had immediately. If that happened, we might be able to escape using the other before they caught on. I lifted the card with my face inscribed on it and slid it through the reader. A soft beep sounded as it was read, and then a heavier click as the bolt in the door disengaged. I reached out and seized the handle, pulling the door open.

"Ladies first", I reminded Natsumi, my mouth suddenly dry and my tongue difficult to maneuver.

"Ah, bless", she said dryly, and crossed the threshold into the building. I followed after her, and we were in a cramped foyer almost entirely occupied by the heavy desk that represented the security checkpoint. A uniformed guard was seated at the chair behind it, his face and torso obscured by the spread newspaper he was reading. At the sound of the bolt disengaging, he had looked up from behind his paper to scrutinize us. _The lazy guard reading his paper while the thieves slip inside._ I wondered if we should tip-toe. It was such a cartoonish archetype and my nerves were fraying so rapidly that I nearly laughed and spoiled everything.

To his eyes, though, he saw two more of the fleet of lab technicians passing through these doors on a daily basis. It was early – near the end of his shift – and he wasn't in the mood to talk. He merely opened his paper wide again and disappeared behind it.

Easy enough.

My Shikabane Hime took the lead, the modest heels she had worn to go with her 'professional scientist' look clicking on the ceramic tile of the hallway that extended past the desk and towards the glass door that partitioned the hallway from the tunnel formed by the decontamination chamber. She examined it doubtfully, but I had been through one exactly like it at VeriSci New York. They were pretty flashy arrangement – heavy antimicrobial agents were pumped into the chamber and then vacuumed off, followed by a final UV scan. As such, I didn't share her hesitation, and stepped into the chamber beyond. Built for single occupants to pass through one at a time, the doors hissed shut in my wake. There was a familiar chilly sensation as the alcoholic-based sanitizer was spritzed into the chamber and stuck to my skin, before the circulators kicked in and I was caught in a hurricane that swiftly evaporated the residue. The bluish lights of the ultraviolet scan kicked in then and I felt the usual tingling on my exposed skin.

Then something I hadn't been expecting happened. A third phase initiated, and the lights in the chamber went out. A circular frame ringed with bulbs descended, circling about my head first before slowly traversing down my form. Another scan of some kind. Confused, I looked about for some sort of display to illuminate me on this mysterious third phase, but there wasn't anything. A soft beep affirmed that I was cleared to pass through, and the doors slid open to allow me to do so. Once I was clear, Natsumi stepped in after me, closing her eyes as the door whirred shut behind her and the sanitizing fluid misted the air about her.

The antibacterial UV treatment passed without incident, but as the third scan began, something went wrong almost immediately. The frame containing the bulbs stopped at eye level on her, and the machine made an uncertain whirring noise to itself. It reset the frame to the top of the chamber, only to restart the test and begin its descent again with the same result. This time the decontamination chamber was more decisive. It released a keening, lingering beep of alarm that echoed for a moment before silencing.

Through the glass doors of the chamber, I could see alarm growing in Natsumi's face, and heard it through the bond between us. I lifted a hand against the glass and mouthed '_Don't Panic'_ at her. She nodded, but her eyes were wide still. Behind her, through the far doors, I could see the security guard approaching. He peered in through the glass at Natsumi, and then beyond to me. I lifted my hands helplessly. His shoulders lifted in a shrug and then he laughed, reaching aside to flick open a panel on the far side of the chamber. He punched a few buttons and the test restarted, spritzing Natsumi with alcohol and then baking her under the ultraviolet for a few moments before engaging the problematic test.

The frame immediately stopped again, before releasing the beep of annoyance. Now the guard was looking perplexed, and rubbing at a tired eye with the heel of a palm. He hit a few more buttons and both sets of doors slid open as he overrode the machine.

"Damn thing. The guys who installed it configured it specifically for what you guys are working with in the labs to avoid contaminant leaks, but administrative told us that the machines weren't specifically built to scan for it in the first place. You guys are coming in from the outside – don't know why it thinks you could have any of the shit in there on you." _It's identifying her as a Shikabane, or as compromised with Shikabane tissue._ Natsumi smiled nervously, but I don't think she trusted herself to speak.

"_Hai, _I don't like them either", the guard was saying, before he waved Natsumi through the open door so that she could join me on the far side. Punching a few numbers into the access code again, he reset the system – sealing us inside the labs. He gave a friendly wave to us through the chamber and turned about to ponderously negotiate his way back to his desk, yawning as he went.

"Close one", Natsumi muttered after she had recovered her composure somewhat.

"If it's all the same, I think we should find a different way out when we leave." I didn't want to have to rely on someone else to free her if she got stuck again.

Especially if we were running from something.

* * *

><p>The interior of the facility was sterile, an admirable quality in a scientific laboratory under usual circumstances. For some reason, though, the void of life combined with the inherent knowledge of the shady dealings going on within the structure combined to give me the creeping horrors. It was <em>Coma<em> by Robin Cook. The cleanliness of the surroundings was a flimsy mask for the decayed practices it was hiding. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as we negotiated interchangeable hallways.

Natsumi's cool hand alighted on my elbow in a reassuring manner, but with the contract spanning the air between us like a tether of emotion, I could tell she was feeling it too. There was an unshakeable feeling of _wrongness_ to this place. I wanted to get what we needed and go, immediately. We reached a pair of sliding glass doorways burdened with another card-scanner. Stenciled in bold black letters on their face was the proclamation:

LABORATORY ALPHA

RESEARCH STAFF ONLY

"Research staff." I tapped a finger against the stenciled letters with a false smile on my lips. "That's us." I unclipped my keycard from my hip again and made to swipe it through the reader. I wondered if the labs had a different algorithm, but there was a sharp beep and the door slid open with a soft hiss. Robert had really done his homework. The laboratory was darkened – we must have arrived earlier than the skeleton shift's start. We stepped into the gloom.

Natsumi squinted her eyes in the darkness while I occupied myself with feeling along the wall for a lightswitch. She apparently had better night vision than I did, because she stepped into the darkness while I fumbled along the wall. I could hear her moving around the lab, her heels sharply connecting with the linoleum floors.

"Give me a second, Natsumi", I grunted as I swept my palm up and down the wall. _Where the fuck is the switch?_

"There's some sort of… tank here…" Natsumi's reply ghosted back through the darkness just as my fingers brushed a knob and I threw it. A low hum started and with a soft _plink_ the fluorescents in the first section of the lab came on, illuminating my companion and her discovery. It was a tank, alright. A specimen tank. And it was occupied.

The Shikabane floating in the isotonic solution in the tank was distorted horribly. Its spine protruded out of is back in an elevated ridge that curved sharply to give it a hunched, coiled appearance. It skin had a sallow, milky quality that was helped none by the pale fluid that it was suspended in. His hands had curled into claws and its legs were bowed – but worst of all, it was still recognizably, quantifiably human. Natsumi was shocked enough to leap back slightly and plunge her hand into her labcoat to unholster her revolver.

"Natsumi!" I spoke just in time to prevent her from firing a round through the acrylic that separated her from the _thing_ floating in the tank. "They're sedated." She lowered her gun and looked over her shoulder at me. Her face was twisted in an expression of disgust, and I wrinkled my nose in sympathy before I reached over to the panel containing the switches. There were seven. I began flicking them one after one, hearing the hum and clink of each set of fluorescent bulbs activating, marching away down the lab, vanquishing the darkness as they went.

"Hol. Lee. Shit." _Oh Marcus, you've been a very bad boy._ Natsumi and I stared, aghast, at the expanse of the lab before us. As each pale square in the ceiling exploded into light, it bathed series of identical specimen tanks that stretched away towards the rear of the lab. There were dozens – maybe even hundreds – of creatures, coiled and bobbing in their containers.

"Natsumi. Camera."

"Right."

She reached into her labcoat and fished out the small digital camera I had purchased for this purpose, and started moving down the lab, snapping pictures of the tanks, pausing often to take wide-angled shots of the entire lab to show the scope of it all. I doubted anything would do this justice, but if the sect so much as believed the operation was a fifth the size of what it was, they'd still move immediately. While she continued to click off shots, documenting each tank individually, I examined the equipment. There was the usual array besides the gruesome tanks – spectrometers, centrifuges, and the fleet of pipettes for chemical analysis. Tucked into the corner, however, was a liquid crystal display attached to a quietly humming computer. I moved over and wiggled the mouse until the screen blinked to life and I was presented with a login screen.

_Hmm._ I glanced over my shoulder to check on Natsumi's progress. She had come to the end of the ward and was examining the next set of glass double doors. They were identical to the doors to Alpha Lab, but declared the next one over to be Beta Lab. To the side of the door was a roster that listed those who were granted access to the doors. I could tell from where I stood that it was a very short list.

"I don't think we're going to get in here…" She was scanning the roster as she spoke in a doubtful tone.

"It's fine. We have more than enough information to go on without it." As I spoke, she wandered back over to my side and was peering at the login screen.

"Did you try admin?"

"I'm sure the password for admin is a string of random numbers and letters for security purposes – a security algorithm. We'll never guess it." She leaned forward slightly and placed her revolver down on the counter beside the computer, humming thoughtfully to herself. I was sucking on my teeth in thought before I reached for the keyboard.

LOGIN: JANDERS

I seriously doubted that this was going to work, but I typed in the password Doctor Anders had used before. Elderly and in scorn of security protocol, he had given it out to most of the graduate students so they could input the data reports directly under his name rather than having to retype our submitted work himself. The logo of the operating system bloomed, and then I was at the desktop. No one had remembered to remove his login credentials – he was dead, afterall. _Marcus Vert, you fabulous idiot._ He still had his information credentials as well – all current system and experimental data was available. I reached across and powered up the printer and began printing out every currently updated document I could find. I'd like the team of Gon-Sojo back at the sect sift through it.

I did read some of the documents as I printed them off, relaying what I saw absently to Natsumi as she wandered about. "…It looks like… _fucking hell._ These aren't strictly Shikabane. I mean, they are, but they're not naturally procured. They're taking volunteers and infecting them with Shikabane flesh."

"Like at Ikai", she said, examining the occupant of the tank in front of her with a sickened expression on her face.

"Yeah, but they've perfected it. Looks like most of their initial efforts died from organ failure, just the same, but then they refined the technique. These ones are the first batch to remain viable fourty-eight hours on. Looks like most of the volunteers are homeless, runaways, or illegal migrant workers. No one would miss them."

Something caught my eye. It was a folder entitled: For Lazarus. It was right there in his document folder, in plain view. I felt a jerk go through me. Anders had left something. I attempted to open it, but a dialogue box emerged informing me it was encrypted, and requested a password. Of course Anders would have needed to protect it from Vert. He had probably picked the hard drive clean once he had caught the old man deleting sensitive material. I wondered if the encryption had held up. It had only been two weeks since he had been killed. A moderately strong encryption would probably have defied Vert, unless he could guess the password. I was assuming that was what I was supposed to do.

I tried the name of Ander's pet Labrador. As I typed her name in, it occurred to me that Dorothy was probably dead or in a shelter. _Oh hell._ Her name wasn't the password regardless. I thought for a few seconds. I typed _Rosebud._ Anders had loved _Citizen Kane._ Using the mysterious phrase would have worked as a password. It was rejected. I wracked my brain for a time, thinking back. I typed a single word, and the folder opened. It was his daughter's name. She had been born stillborn fifty years before his death, and had killed his wife in the process. _I guess he never let go. Poor Anders._

The folder had surprisingly little in it. There was a data entry that looked like the name of a protein. The text file underneath it bore my name. I clicked on the latter first.

_Lazarus:_

_Yesterday I sent Robert Barret after you with my recent synthesis. I sincerely hope he finds you. You were the lone glimmer of success in an otherwise hopeless effort. Your survival is the only thing that can even begin to justify the unforgivable costs we accepted. I can only hope the enzyme ensures that you continue to survive. I'm afraid it seems that even though you have endured more than any of us, you've not even reached the midpoint of this gulf. The file contained within this document is a copy of the catalytic enzyme. It is the only copy I preserved. The rest are gone. I do not think I will be able to erase all of the work we have done, but I can withhold this key component from everyone except yourself. Lord knows you're the only one who had any right to it._

_A word of caution about the enzyme that I failed to mention to Robert. The reason I have made the doses as small as they are – while a dose in small concentration strains your cellular machinery, it's not enough to do lasting damage. Any more and you run the risk of permanently damaging yourself – likely by fatally fraying your telomeres._

_Good luck, child. This is all I can do._

_John Anders._

* * *

><p>"What is he talking about, Laz?" Natsumi was reading over my shoulder, and her comment was breathed directly into my ear.<p>

"I'll explain when we're out of here." I closed the text file and considered the data file containing the catalytic enzyme. I hovered the cursor over it for a time before right clicking, and then selecting delete.

"I thought you needed that", Natsumi protested.

"I don't." _I don't need an addiction on top of my worries._

"You guys are here early – your shift doesn't start for another hour." I had been preoccupied reading Ander's note. Neither of us noticed the lab doors sliding open to permit one of the guards. I presumed he had seen the lights on from outside of the lab. He was wearing a casual sort of smile on his face – I guessed he was just looking to make some conversation during the monotonous work of doing his rounds. I was about to reply – to tell them that Vert had us working overtime to recover lost data – but Natsumi flinched in surprise and looked over her shoulder like a startled deer.

"…What are you guys doing anyway?" He cocked a brow – Natsumi's reaction had triggered his curiosity. His eyes went from us to the workstation behind us, and the stack of documents that were still slowly chugging out from the printer. From there, his eyes slowly drifted onto the revolver that Natsumi had left beside the printer. I saw them widen at the corners marginally and didn't wait. There wasn't going to be any explaining the gun away.

He was already reaching for the radio attached to his belt at the hip when my fingers curled around the keyboard and I swung it sideways at his face, tearing the cord from the computer's tower as I did so. The plastic panel struck him solidly in the face, snapping in half and sending the plastic squares of the keys showering onto the ground in a rain of plastic keys and components. I was satisfied with the effect, but I had misjudged the quality of my target. Despite having his head snapped violently around and sent a gout of blood from his nose, he didn't stumble, and threw a blind fist out at me that caught up against my ear. Bells rang and I felt warmth blossom where the blow had connected.

The latent enhanced protein in my blood was making me stronger than before, but this guy was at least two weight classes my superior. I made a feint, as if his strike had knocked me off balance, before I swung a fist that arced low to high and caught him on the point of his chin. His head jerked back again and he stumbled, but as I tried to clinch him, he rolled his body sideways and shoved me off. I stumbled into a nearby workstation, knocking a beaker assembly to the floor in a rain of broken glass that shattered across the floor like diamond. I felt my arm burning and knew that the ragged glass had sliced through my lab-coat on its trip to the floor. Unable to assist me with a human opponent, Natsumi bounced anxiously up and down on her heels and swore as helpfully as she could from the sidelines

The guard came after me, scrabbling for the handgun clipped to his belt with vengeance in his eyes. I lifted my foot and kicked my heel the moment he came into range, knocking him breathless just as his hand closed around the butt of his pistol. He stumbled backwards and cracked his head against the clear face of the nearest specimen tank. He attempted to throw his hands behind to catch himself, but with his gun in hand the barrel impacted against the acrylic with a metallic thunk that was immediately drowned out as his finger reflexively closed around the trigger.

The round that left the chamber struck the tank. The inch thick acrylic didn't shatter, of course, but it did impact and send a spider-web of veins through its surface that began to slowly weep the homeostasis fluid from within. The guard was tough – he was still on his feet and had gotten control of his handgun, which he lifted with the intent of putting a much more deliberate round into my forehead. The swoop of panic was still there, but I was surprised how much annoyance the concept of being shot for the third time in a week was invoking in me.

So as surprised as I was when the tank behind the gunman exploded outwards, the isotonic solution splashing out over him and causing him to stumble slightly, the barrel of his gun drooping. The cause of the violent depressurization wasn't readily clear until the hooked hands of the Shikabane closed around the guard's torso in a bear-hug and dug viciously into the front of his chest. He jerked again and spat blood, a spasm closing his finger around the trigger of his sidearm to send a second bullet racing into the linoleum at his feet.

Then it was the Shikabane's turn to shudder and flail, as Natsumi – finally presented with something she was actually permitted to kill – swept up her revolver from where she had left it on the workstation and began firing indiscriminately into the blown-out tank. The third round split its forehead neatly in two and ended the struggle conclusively. The corpse slipped down into a hunched posture within the shattered tank, its hands still buried in the thorasic cavity of the guard, who was still alive. He slipped down with it, until he was seated with his back against the base of the container. A pink froth was bubbling up through his teeth as he gasped and choked, and he kicked his feet weakly, spreading a widening pool of blood across the previously sterile floor.

I watched all this with a sense of nauseous detachment until a high, keening wail of alarm passed through the lab – and presumably the rest of the facility. Either someone had heard the gunshots and triggered the alarm, or the specimen tanks had a containment-breach protocol wired into them. Either way, it was time to get out. I moved to the door as Natsumi scooped up the documents from the printer. I hit the button, but the doors wouldn't open.

"The door's sealed, we can't—" I started to say, before Natsumi leveled her revolver and fired a single round through the glass panel of the door, and it shattered, raining fragments in a shower.

"No it's not." She stepped through the blown-out doorframe and I followed after her. _Right, then._ "Which way should we go?" Natsumi was saying, her head swiveling up and down the hallway.

"We came in that way, but we won't be able to get you back out of the decontamination chamber." I indicated back down the hallway, before turning and retreating in the other direction, Natsumi close on my heels. The plaintive, shrill cry of the klaxon overhead was an omnipresent ambiance to our flight. I turned the corner and our environment shifted from the sterile corridors separating the labs and adjacent monitoring rooms and substations to the oak paneled doors of the administrative offices. We were heading towards the main exit – Ryu hadn't mentioned any decontamination chambers there, but why would there be? The main entrance was to be used by those using the administrative offices, not the labs behind them. What the investigator _had_ mentioned was the dual security checkpoints. _We'll cross that bridge when we get to it._

The twisting corridors of the administration department were labyrinthine. I knew the rough direction in which we had to travel, but I was quickly getting turned around in our frantic flight from the lab. One of the offices opened and a curious, young admin poked her head out of the doorway to find out what the commotion was about, only to be greeted by the sight of two disheveled lab technicians, one spattered with blood and the other armed with a six-shooter. With a scandalized look on her face, she ducked back into her office and slammed the door. Natsumi kicked it open violently, and leveled her gun at the cowering office worker.

"Which way is out?" Her voice was terse. I knew she couldn't shoot, of course, but the girl before us didn't, and with a trembling finger she gestured to the back wall of the room she was sheltering in. "Thanks." Natsumi's voice was high and sweet before she turned and pushed me down the hallway to the next intersection, where she turned and we began moving down it in the direction the girl had indicated. We were running now, and we spilled out haphazardly into the lobby of the administrative building. It was two-storied, the ground floor wide and expansive, with the ceiling rising high overhead. The second floor was mainly a perimeter walkway replete with a glass partition topped by a simple railing designed to prevent those traversing the walkway above from stumbling out into open space. The lobby itself was a Spartan affair, except for a large stone statue depicting the VeriSci logo that had been transported into its exact centre. I could see beyond it that the far side of the lobby fed out into a short corridor that presumably ended at the front entrance of the facility. A short dash to freedom.

Unfortunately for this scheme, straddling the lobby-side entrance of this hallway and then again farther away, up against the very exit, were two identical security booths. Both were swarming with activity; officers were handing out rifles to the security details and barking instructions. Unless they felt they needed heavy ordinance to kill two run-of-the-mill intruders, I was guessing the still-blaring alarm signified the Shikabane had breached containment and they were gearing up for a hell of a fight. It became very apparent they weren't above taking shots at standard human targets, though, as one of the officers pointed us out and shouted.

His detail lifted their rifles to their shoulder and Natsumi pushed me aside into the cover afforded by the stairs that rose up beside us to join the upper level. A hail of automatic gunfire tore into it moments later, ripping chunks out of the wall behind us and out of the posts that flanked the stairwell, behind which we crouched. A veil of plaster and dust billowed out over us as the barrage continued, and I was blinking my eyes frantically to clear them when the incoming fire slacked. I finally got around to withdrawing my Grach from where I had it holstered underneath my - when Natsumi caught my wrist in a firm grip and leveraged me up the stairs forcefully. _I really need to learn to remember how strong this girl is._

"Let's find a way around!" Her voice was clear in the wake of the deafening staccato of the volley we had just taken. We flew up the stairs together, and out of the corner of my eye, I was aware of the security detail reloading their firearms. We mounted the stairs and arrived on the second-floor walkway, hugging the wall opposite the open space of the lobby to our left in order to deny those on the ground floor the angle to fire on us. Not that they didn't try of course, and a new flurry of automatic firing scattered the partition and sent shards of glass spiraling through the air around us, the bullets passing through to impact against the ceiling over our heads to treat us to another shower of plaster. We kept moving, flashing past the doors that lined the side of the walkway – move offices.

One of these opened and two guards stepped out, raising their rifles to their shoulders as they did so. _Shit, they have other ways up._ I lifted the Grach and opened fire frantically, attempting to beat them to the punch. My first two rounds skidded wide, one ricocheting noisily off the iron railing and the second bursting the light over their heads – causing them to duck down reflexively. The third and fourth pulls of the trigger send twin bullets winging towards the right guard, burying themselves in his chest with a satisfying 'thwock' that spun him down and away. The fifth round to leave the barrel struck the second gunman directly between the eyes, lodging in his frontal lobe and killing him instantly – but coming too late to prevent him from firing a single round in counter. It flicked past my left shoulder and took Natsumi in the left side of her chest.

I heard it thud into her and heard the little gasp she choked out as it drove the air out of her lungs as it spent its kinetic energy passing through her ribs and the circulatory tissue of her aorta. I had turned in time to see her still on her feet, swaying in a manner that was more confused than shocked.

"…Laz", she started to say, before she began to topple backwards, her legs folding up underneath her. I watched her fall in slow motion, every moment in hyper acute detail. A few strands of hair had escaped from her bun during our frantic flight, and they twisted into little ringlets that floated in front of her face as she dropped. Her lips formed a perfect little 'o' of surprise as she went, and her dark eyes were locked onto mine, reflecting her bemusement – she hadn't yet understood what was happening to her.

She hit the ground with a clatter as her revolver dropped from her hand and skittered a few feet away from her sprawled form. My Grach joined it as I tossed it aside, sliding down onto my knees. She was gulping for air, and though her heart didn't pump, blood was seeping out of the wound at a terrifying speed. _Pressure?_ I didn't know how I could help her. It was a kill-shot.

"Just hold me", she whispered between gasps.

* * *

><p>I had always thought this part of the movie was clichéd. The hero's best friend, love interest, or sibling has been shot. They're going to die. He can't save them. 'Hold me, just for a while', they tell him. The audience rolls their eyes. But now that it was happening to me, it didn't seem so trite anymore. She held a shivering hand out towards me and I took it, using it to pull her into a reclined position, her upper body resting in my lap. Slipping a hand along her back to the nape of her neck, I wound my fingers into the wispy hair there, my other arm sliding across his midsection. Her shivering was gradually subsiding. It wasn't going to be long.<p>

Then I felt the bond between us flaring up – felt the shift from its usual equilibrium so that most of the connection's strength was mine. And then suddenly the wound in her chest was knitting together before my eyes, the muscle and skin destroyed in the bullet's trajectory regenerating and winding back together into a whole. _Of course, you idiot, she's a Shikabane._ As long as I was close enough to her to supply her with _Rhun_, she could recover from anything that didn't kill her instantly. She had fully stopped shivering now, and the wound was entirely gone. We both blew out a shared sigh of relief.

"Did you know that would happen?" I asked.

"Yes. Or I was pretty sure. I've never had one that bad before." She reached up and gave me a little ingratiating pat on my cheek before speaking. "You were pretty freaked out."

"Yah, I'll laugh about it when we're out of this fucking place. Comon."

I stood up, pulling her back to her feet with me. The gunfire from the lower level had stopped – I was guessing they realized they couldn't get the right firing solution to hit us from down there, and were repositioning. I scooped up my pistol, and she grabbed her revolver. We took off again, Natsumi apparently no worse for the wear. I was – I could feel a fatigue prickling at the corners of my consciousness that hadn't been there before I revived my Shikabane Hime. I kept running, the both of us hugging the wall on our right to stay out of view of anyone on the ground floor – and nursing newfound wariness about the doors that were slipping away behind us.

We rounded the corner of the lobby. We were now directly over where the exit hallway began on the ground level. _Could we drop down and get behind them?_ That didn't solve the problem of the second security checkpoint. Natsumi seemed to be having the same crisis – she was glancing around helplessly. There was a shout across the open space of the lobby and I looked out across to find that the security detail had joined us on the second floor, segmenting in order to ascend both the left and right staircases that permitted access to the walkway at the end of the room we had entered on. I seized Natsumi by the waist and tugged her into the room directly beside us, shouldering the door open roughly as we went. I had noticed the stenciled plaque on its face:

VERT, M.

DIRECTOR OF FACILITIES

I was hoping Marcus hadn't changed much in the few weeks it had been since I knew him. He had always had a flair for poignant drama, especially when he was trying to sell himself to his investors. I glanced around the room, and felt a surge of renewed relief as I found what I was looking for: a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows looking east out over the yard that stood before the VeriSci building. It was one of Marcus' tricks. He'd stare reflectively out of the window at the scenery beyond, his back to the investors he had just finished his pitch to – as if he was looking into a fortuitous future. He thought it made him look wise, and that he knew more than he was letting on. His success rate was depressingly consistent, but at the moment that was far from my mind. _Vert, you pompous ass, God love you._

I raised the Grach and, with no small satisfaction, blew out one of his precious windows, the pistol barking as it fired. The glass spewed out from the building to carpet the main parking lot that stood before the front entrance. I pushed Natsumi towards our freshly constructed exit.

"Go." As she jogged to the window and looked down into the lot below, I moved to Marcus' desk, scooping his chair up and moving it back to the door. I jammed the back underneath the handle and propped the chair's legs up to bar the door. It wouldn't hold long, but every second was as precious as gold. I turned back to the window just in time to see Natsumi's hair flying up over her head, her form dropping down out of view through the window. I heard the crash of someone failing to shoulder the door open, and I took off across the excessively lush carpeting that had been lain on the floor of the office. _Tasteless._Then I reached the window and threw myself out into open space.

I landed awkwardly, twisting my ankle severely against the asphalt of the lot. A bolt of pain went up my leg and I went down onto one knee – cutting myself on the jagged bits of glass peppering the ground. Natsumi had rolled a bit when she landed, and was covered in superficial scrapes. I willed myself to my feet under the floodlights, glancing back over my shoulder. The guards at the outer checkpoint were scrambling out of their booth, rifles in hand as they rushed to the outer doors. In Marcus' office above, I heard a sharp crack of wood as the frame of the door gave way and the men who had been pursuing us on the upper level rushed across the office. They appeared at the blown out window, raising their rifles to fire on us. In the lot, there was no cover. _Close, but no cigar._

Suddenly there was an almighty screech of tyres and like a panther, our black sedan bounded through the chain-link surrounding the facility, charging across the empty space between us before turning sharply to drift to a halt, its wheels churning up gravel and rocks. The driver's window was open, and as it slid to a rest, a trio of small, cylindrical objects lofted out from the interior, sailing over my head. Mystified, with time seemingly creeping along again, I turned my head to follow them as they bounced to a halt near the doors of the facility, just as they opened before the second set of guards. "Close your eyes!" commanded a voice from within the sedan – an instruction that came a moment too late for me.

In the pre-dawn darkness, the flare of the flash grenades was overwhelming. It felt like being punched in the eyes with a fist of pure light. I staggered from the sheer shock of it, and my vision was simply _gone_, replaced with a total whitewash and an intense pain as my pupillary muscles attempted to compensate for the massive increase in exposure. As if I was stumbling through a dream, I felt powerful hands on my shoulders as I was practically thrown into the back seat of the sedan. A moment later I felt Natsumi's weight on me as she was tossed with equal gracelessness into the car, and then the vehicle lurched as the driver threw it into gear and accelerated.

My vision was slowly coming back, and I blinked a number of times. Natsumi's face slowly floated into view, an inch or so away from mine. We were both panting from the excited, final effort of our escape.

"Hello", I offered quietly as a grin touched my lips.

"Hi", she replied in a breathless whisper.

"Hey", said Ryu, greeting us the front seat, turning the wheel hard to slide the car back onto the road as we exited the lot and roared away from VeriSci. "Find anything interesting?"

* * *

><p>Ryu and Natsumi went to present the report to the Sojo. Before she went with the inspector, I asked my Shikabane what she wanted from the takeaway across the street from the temple, a little Chinese place that catered to the ethnic tourists visiting the temples in Asakusa. The drive back had taken us almost five times longer than the drive back, Ryu wisely having taken many winding back roads and alternate routes in case VeriSci was pursuing us. It was just after noon, and I was starving.<p>

Minutes later, loaded down with two paper bags containing my spoils, I crossed back over the street and stepped through the gateway of the Kougon Temple. I judged that Natsumi and Ryu were still giving their report, so I crossed over the grass in continued disregard of the pathways and stepped into the guesthouse. The foyer was deserted – come to think of it, I hadn't seen any other guests staying here since I arrived – and I navigated to my room.

Opening the Shogi screen, I entered and set the bags containing the Chinese on the bureau. My mp3 player was on the stereo dock, and I reached over and turned it on. Gary Jules began to sing _Mad World._ Not particularly relevant. _Maybe it doesn't work all the time._ I tugged the Huey labcoat off, unclipping it from around my neck. The cut I earned from the broken glass in the lab had already healed, as had the scrapes on my knee from leaping from Marcus' office, but the labcoat was bloody. I tossed it in the corner, resolving to throw it out when I left the room next.

There was a knock on the door, and I turned to slide it open. Natsumi stepped into the room, stretching her arms over her head as she looked around.

"Where's the food? I'm dying."  
><em>So much for being dead already.<em> "It's on the dresser – but there's no table. We're going to have to eat on the floor."

Soon I was shoveling Low Mein into my mouth as Natsumi spoke, balancing her own pot of rice on her knee. We were sitting cross legged on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Sougen wanted us to move right away – today – but Honda backed him off until tomorrow. He wants an opportunity to review the documents to know what we're really up against. They both agree that by the pictures alone mark this as the second worst Shikabane related incident we've had."

"Only the second?" I was surprised.

"Yeah. A few months ago, there was a serious disaster at Ikai city."

"Sure", I said. "It was all over the news." Dozens of planes had crashed into inner Ikai city, each of them loaded with passengers and explosives. The resulting blasts collapsed the metropolitan underground rail system, causing the high rises and skyscrapers on street level to collapse. Dozens of buildings had fallen – tens of thousands of people had died. It had been the worst terrorist attack in human history.

"Because of the sudden nature of the event, many people who died in the attack did so with strong regret. Thousands of Shikabane were born instantly. We controlled it, but barely."

"So this should be a piece of cake."

She twisted her lips into a slightly rueful smile as we ate. "I wouldn't go that far. Though the hard part for us is over. The whole sect is mobilizing. We'll actually have support this time. Lots of it."

"That would have been useful the first time." I finished my Low Mein as she slowly worked her way through her Chicken Fried Rice. When she finished thoughtfully, she spoke.

"We almost didn't get out of there, did we?"  
>"Almost. But in the end, the only thing that didn't make it out intact was your blouse." I reached out with a finger and pressed it through the circular hole in the fabric where the bullet had entered her.<p>

"Totally ruined", she whispered, and I glanced up to find her staring at me with a sort of serious, mute sobriety, her lips pressed into a neutral line.

"It has to go." My fingers found the highest button of the bloody garment, and trailed them lower, unfastening each button as I went along so that her blouse fell open. Somberly, she shrugged out of the vestment and let it crumple to the ground behind her. The bullet had also passed through the left cup of the modestly padded cream bra she was wearing, the pale material stained crimson.

I leant forward unspoken, reaching my hands around her shoulders to close my thumb and forefingers on the clasp of the strap that rested between her shoulder blades. Her breath came softly against my cheek as I pinched my fingers together to unhook the tines that held her in check. Her lips brushed the ridge of my cheekbone as I sat back, and she reached up without hesitation to slip the separated straps from her arms and allow the cups to fall away into her lap. Demurely, she folded her hands in her lap as I made no excuses in surveying the fruits of my labour, a touch of pride and a heaped spoonful of anticipation in my heart.

When I leaned forward to touch my fingertips lower, against the cool skin of her abdomen, she laughed and carried a hand to the base of her neck. Undoing the elastic band that held her bun in place, she shook out her hair in a wave of dark silk that poured down to wash over and complement the ivory skin of her bare shoulders gorgeously. Behind me, the stereo hissed softly as the song switched over and delivered the steady, pounding bass of Puscifer, _Revelation 22:20._

"Well done." Her voice was low, and rich with amused interest as her eyes dropped to the faded jeans she still wore. "Now what's your excuse for the rest of it?"


	7. Chapter 7A: The Boom

**Author's Note: ** Hey guys. As you can probably tell, this story is going to have an alternative ending. This is the first. The second is going to require me to partially rewrite this chapter and the whole epilogue. So, bear with me!

**Chapter 7: The Boom**

I lay awake for a long time. Natsumi was still – she had been truthful about her need for sleep – but I couldn't close my eyes. For some reason the slow sweep of the fan scything over the bed was hypnotizing me, and my thoughts were turning too quickly to permit me to rest.

Being with her had offered the rare – somewhat uncomfortable – sensation of being a virgin again. When her lips had met mine, they had been cold – something that startled me despite my internal preparation. She was different – exciting and nerve-inducing simultaneously. But it passed. She warmed, was warmed by me and bed, was warmed by me and by the time her fingers, wound into my hair, had insistently tugged me towards the bed, the passing jitters were gone entirely. I had momentarily wondered if Shogi screens could be locked, but shortly thereafter, I stopped caring.

Now the screen was dark – the sun had set during the whispered words we had shared on the tangled sheets prior to Natsumi drifting off. The fan was all that whispered to me for a time, occasionally billowing a wisp of Natsumi's dark, perfumed hair across my face. She had left a cool leg hooked across my shin, her foot along the inset of mine as she slept. Eventually, however, the young woman beside me stirred.

"We probably shouldn't have done that."

"That big of a disappointment?" My lips twisted into a sardonic smile at the fan, and she laughed lightly.

"Not nearly. But the sect takes a dim view of this sort of thing. Very dim. In fact, I think it's outlawed."

"I suppose we can be thankful I'm not strictly a member of the sect."

She was quiet for a time before a cool hand settled on the front of my shoulder, jutting from beneath the cover as it was.

"Because I'm a Shikabane, they say I could seriously injure you… that I can't moderate my strength." For a moment, she sounded as if she was actually concerned. "And that's not even considering the Gon-Dai Sojo's bloodline's… opinions."

Her voice was suddenly filled with self-doubt – and for a moment I believe she really _did_ regret our indiscretion, but when I turned my head to consider her face, I saw her eyes were dark with worry – slightly fearful to hear my response.

I lifted the shoulder underneath her hand in an idle half-shrug, and said precisely what my first thought had been: "Fuck 'em." She laughed at that, but shook her head vigorously enough that another dark tress fell across her pale face, and her eyes were suddenly keen again.

"No", she said, and when I arched an eyebrow in curiosity, she slid over me like silk, following after he leg until she was straddling my hips. Leaning forward to place her forehead and tip of her nose to mine, she whispered: "Me."

* * *

><p><em>"How did they get in?" Marcus was standing before the blown out windows of his office. Someone had taped plastic sheeting over the hole to keep out the wind of the night beyond. His voice was terse.<em>

_"Security consoles show that a keycard that matching the security protocol was utilized. It was unregistered. We've already cancelled it. Our security techs will be closing the loophole by the middle of the week." A female voice – professional and administrative, but carrying a touch of nerves._

_"Our contacts in the TSA informed us that Robert Barret just returned to America from a personal vacation in Tokyo." A dry, male voice, accompanied by the rustle of papers._

_"A delightful coincidence. I wonder why he didn't stop by." Marcus' voice dripped with sarcasm._

_"The Closed Circuit cameras caught images of the two responsible for the disturbance." The female voice spoke as there was a slight click – a slide changing over._

_A moment passed._

_"Lazarus." Marcus gave a low grunt._

_"Lazarus?" The other man's voice was full of curiosity. "Is that a code-name? Is he someone with the government?"_

_"No. Lazarus is a nickname. His codename is Pluto." A sniff before: "We gave it to him. He's the subject upon whom the work in Beta is based. His immune system gave us the idea to boost the immunofactors of our subjects to prevent the virus from spreading at a lethal speed."_

_"He come to collect hi_s_ things?" The dry male voice cracked a mild joke, but an awkward cough followed as Marcus delivered a withering stare. "Who is the girl?"  
>"We're checking in on it. Apparently she has some religious affiliation with a Buddhist sect."<em>

_A long pause followed before Marcus spoke._

_"Double the scheduled security detail for the next week. Authorize them to carry their rifles at all times."_

_"It's that serious?"_

_"Yes."_

_Marcus turned his attention away, only to be drawn back by the male voice: "There's something else, director."_

_"What is it?" Irritation began to bleed through._

_"The intruders accessed some encrypted files. John Ander's files, specifically. Our tech team is still trying to crack those ourselves." Marcus was paying full attention now, and the male voice went on – a touch of smugness in it now. "Apparently they didn't want to leave what they found around – it was removed from the locale file server. However, we have a redundant copy – encryption and all."_

_"And…?" Marcus' question was full of weight._

_"Our keylogger recorded the password they used. The encrypted information is being analyzed as we speak. It's too early to say for sure, but they're pretty excited. It looks like a solution to the affinity problems that were preventing the proteins from performing optimally."_

_"When will the solution be ready?"_

_"They'll have an untested version in a few hours. They have some concerned about the stability, but they're already programming the missing genes into the retrovirus as we speak."_

_The corners of Marcus' lips slowly curled into a Chesire smile._

_"Excellent."_

* * *

><p>I woke smoothly, inhaling a slow breath through my nose. It was still dark within the room – though brightening as pre-dawn illuminated the Shogi screen that led to fenced balcony at the rear of my room. I didn't think I jerked, but Natsumi stretched and murmured quietly beside me.<p>

"What is it?"

I thought for a moment.

"Trouble."

She was awake now, rolling over onto her elbow to prop her head up and fix me with a curious stare. I began to explain.

* * *

><p>The council chamber was filled with life, now. In order to permit row upon row of calmly seated monks, the central platform had been widened significantly within the tranquil pool. How they managed to do this, I had no clue, but as the border of the central platform now nearly touched the edge of each of the six ringing islands, I figured I knew how the Sojo got out there without getting their skirts wet.<p>

"The initial report filed by Inspector Ryu and Kamura Natsumi have prompted us to classify the action we are briefing you on as class five." Judging by the subtle shift in the surrounding monks, class five was serious business. "This is the first in its class since the disaster at Ikai. Listen carefully." The Gon-Dai Sojo shifted through a few papers before he began to speak again.

"VeriSci Japan is currently in the final stages of developing a new form of militarized biological weapon. The weapon in question is a large number of indoctrinated Shikabane that have been constructed to receive simple operational commands. With their intense speed, stamina, strength, and their hardiness, VeriSci is hoping to market these Shikabane to Governments as an expendable replacement to human footsoldiers." There was a note of distaste in the Gon-Dai Sojo's voice.

"Current estimates of the number VeriSci has successfully reproduced range between one-hundred and one-hundred and fifty Shikabane." There was a low murmur now from the Sect, and quite a bit of shifting – enough to prompt the Gon-Dai Sojo to utter a stern bark to quell it. "Enough. The Shikabane are, again, still in developmental stages. They are kept under constant sedation. We won't have to engage them. In fact, this recent batch of Shikabane uncovered by Ryu and Kamura are the first to remain viable longer than a day. They're not operational yet." The stirring quieted.

The Gon-Dai Sojo turned another page and spoke. "Marcus Vert may be immoral, but he's far from insane. It appears based on his direct order, countermeasures were installed in each of the current generation Shikabane at VeriSci. First and foremost, these Shikabane are people who have been transmuted while still alive. The technical details are obscure, but apparently, they can be killed with difficulty by mortal hands. Playing on this, Vert had implants installed in the frontal lobes of each Shikabane, that when activated by a countermeasure system, delivers a fatal shock. Apparently it's a contamination protocol in case they escape their control. However, as the Shikabane are currently in stasis, we've decided to simply take control of the facility, pacify resistance, and raze it." He spoke with such harsh conviction, I was reminded quite vividly that he was a military leader as well as a spiritual leader for the Sect.

"We've spoken to the Prefectural police. They've agreed, based on our information, to turn a blind eye to what occurs at VeriSci Japan." Natsumi had told me that the Kougon Sect's activities were occasionally sanctioned by the government, but I hadn't expected them to give us a blank cheque. The Gon-Dai Sojo went on: "Use of all necessary force has been authorized. Even though the Shikabane are inactive, there will be significant human resistance. As such, the each contingency of fighters will be led by one with direct experience from the recent conflict at Ikai."

A few minutes later, the sect as a whole filed out of the council chambers, armed with freshly supplied radio-headsets. Their stoic silence impressed me – but I suppose most of them had seen fighting before. Most returned to their chambers to discard their cumbersome robes for more form fitting attire, and retrieve both their arms and locate their Shikabane Hime. When the Kougon Sect went to war, it didn't do it half-way – Hayate passed by me, a light machine gun slung over his shoulder like a Vietnam era journalistic photograph. The government probably had arms deals with the sect as well – they wouldn't be able to shift so much ordinance otherwise.

I went back to my room, crossing the springy grass of the temple grounds in order to reach the verandah of the guest building quickly. When I pushed open the Shoji screen to my room, Natsumi was waiting for me, seated on the end of the bed. She was kicking her legs idly, but stilled as I stepped through the doorway. Because of her status as 'defiled', she and the other Shikabane Hime hadn't been allowed to the meeting. She lifted a brow.

"What's the plan?"

"Looks like they want us to hit it head on. Everyone's moving out. They have cars waiting." I moved towards the closet and began rummaging through it, pulling out a worn pair of fatigues Hayate had bought me, before drawing out my duster. "We're in Aragami's squad, technically, but they want us to go slightly ahead of the rest. We still have your keycard, and they want to see if we can get in and draw the security details off of their booths before the rest of the sect hits the front doors."

"Mm", Natsumi murmured, watching me slip into the fatigues, before she made to push up from the bed. "And if the card doesn't work?"

I lifted my Grach from the dresser and waved it idly. "I don't think the glass was bulletproof. We'll get in, subtly or not." I fished the holster out of the drawer and slipped the gun under my arm, tightening it around my torso.

"What do we do once we're inside?" Natsumi asked.

"Shock and awe. The monks are all authorized to eliminate the human targets. Once it's under control, I'm guessing we'll eliminate the Shikabane in their tanks. One step at a time though." I closed my duster around my torso and turned to her. "Ready?"

She brushed her hands demurely down the front of her skirt. It didn't look like she was dressed for combat, but she didn't show any signs of changing. A single, springing step carried her to my side, and her abnormally cool lips touched my cheek.

"Let's go save the world."

* * *

><p>The 'car' that Rika had for us was less a sedan and more an armored bay bus. Luckily, the plating had been applied on the inside, so it didn't appear any more conspicuous to the outside observer. That is, of course, until we flipped it trying to go around a corner – an event I felt was more or less guaranteed with the uneven weight of the vehicle. Hayate, however, was comfortable behind the wheel, and the inevitable turn never came to pass as Rika spoke to the group of twelve men and young women crammed into our bus. Wedged beside Rika against the side of the bus, Saki sat with her tongue protruding out of her mouth in concentration as she pounded on the buttons of her handheld device. Behind us on the highway, a dozen vehicles similar to ours trundled along.<p>

"Natsumi and Lazarus already know their job – they'll create a false front behind the enemy to distract them before we hit them head on." Rika looked over the pair of us, and took a moment to suck on her teeth. We were tightly packed into the bus – and everyone had limited space – but I doubted that even that justified Natsumi perching herself on my knee as she had. It certainly made the Sojo suspicious, but she chose not to comment on it. Once again, I found cause to be glad I hadn't been assigned to Honda's group.

"Once the combined arms of the sect manages to break through the security checkpoints, we'll split into two contingents. Honda and Sougen's groups will focus on the administrative portion of the building, securing the office blocks. We, supported by Takamasa Sougi's group, will concentrate on locking down the labs. Once that is done, we'll be the ones assessing how to safely dismantle the Shikabane there."

_Simple enough._ Most of the combatants in the van seemed to share my opinions, because in the wake of her explanation, no questions were offered. Soft conversation between the monks, their neighbors, and their Shikabane Hime broke out as they filled the long drive towards the rural VeriSci complex. Natsumi and I shared a comfortable silence for a time, before I withdrew my mp3 player and she liberated one of the earbuds without ceremony. While I pressed shuffle and occupied one of my own ears with the headset, she settled comfortably against my torso. _Rika's going to notice for sure._ I wasn't too bothered – there was enough in the immediate future to override any concern about consequence.

I thumbed the shuffle button. Wagner. _Ride of the Valkyries._ Pressed to me as she was, I could feel Natsumi shake silently as she laughed.

* * *

><p>It was midday when we arrived at VeriSci. It wasn't exactly supposed to be a stealthy operation. All that was important was getting through the doors. Which is why Natsumi and I had approached the side doors on foot. There was a light breeze blowing, and it whipped my duster about my legs in a manner I found fittingly cinematic. <em>Welcome to the O-K Corral.<em>

As we neared the glass doors, I could see the friendly, lax guard from the night before behind them, reading over his newspaper. He had a friend with him today – presumably due to our previous visit. He seemed no more attentive than the first, however, as his gaze was fixed on a tiny TV set on the desk. There was a CCTV camera over the door I hadn't noticed the night before, but there was no point in shirking from it now – the alarm would go off shortly once we were inside anyway. Didn't matter if it was because of the camera or because of the ruckus. Withdrawing the second key-card – unused in our previous foray – from the pocket of my duster, I made to run it through the card-reader. I was expecting a buzz of denial, so when there was a little chime of success, I was surprised.

"Ladies first." I held the door open for Natsumi, who gave me a sardonic smile.

"Charmer." She passed through into the building, and I followed after her. The guard glanced up from his paper, and half-glanced back down again before he blinked his eyes in surprised recognition and lifted them again. He started to form a word, but two rounds spat from the barrel of the Grach, and ripped through the newspaper, and into the man behind it. _Knock, knock, Marcus. _He tumbled back over his chair and lay on the ground in a sprawl. Natsumi seemed surprised.

"You're getting good at that."

"I don't feel like that's a compliment." I stepped around the desk. The Grach wasn't –terribly- loud, but I doubted it went unheard. _The game is afoot._

"Take it as you will." She followed after me as we moved down the hallway towards the glass doors of the contamination chambers. Suddenly, the mournful wail of the klaxon began again, piercing the air in an irritating manner.

"Looks like we woke the neighbors", I remarked as we neared the chamber, but Natsumi reached out to grab my wrist.

"I can't go through there, Laz. Without the guard, I'll be tra—", she began, before I put a bullet through the chamber. It passed through the pane of the first door, through the chamber, and smashed the glass paneling of the opposite doorway. Twin curtains of glass showered to the floors as the doors gave way, and I offered Natsumi my hand to help her through the hollow frame that remained.

"Don't cut yourself", I warned mildly.

"Such a dear." She stepped through without my help, and I holstered the Grach – remembering to reload it first – before I stepped through after her. As we passed through, there was a buzz in my ear and I heard Sougen over the radio.

"The guards at the huts are scrambling. It looks like they're turning to move deeper into the complex."

I touched my mic to key it before speaking. "Lazarus here."

"Your accent is terrible – who else could it be?" Saki.

"Clear the comms for mission-critical statements." Sougen's voice was flat. "Go ahead, Lazarus."

"Natsumi and I are going to proceed to the entrance of Alpha labs pending your attack on the security checkpoints. We'll meet Sojo Aragami there."

"Understood. Good luck."

I keyed the mic off and glanced aside to Natsumi. She was looking at me with lips drawn up skeptically.

"What?" I felt one of my brows arching.

"Your accent _is_ pretty bad."

"How's your English?"

She considered that for a moment before she spoke. "We have work to do."

"I thought so", I murmured, before we both moved down the hallway in the direction of the lab entrance. Natsumi unholstered her pistol, but with her contract being what it was, I didn't think she'd get to use it. I could feel through the bond that the tumult of her nerves were calmed somewhat by gripping hold of her pistol, so I let it stand without commenting. I'd just have to do all the shooting. As if on cue, the first response from the security checkpoints arrived to bar our casual advance down the hallway. As they rounded the corner, I noticed they already had their rifles in hand as per my dream – small wonder their response was so much faster.

But they weren't the only ones with new toys. At the first sign of their clattering footsteps, I had unhooked one of the fragmentation grenades Ryu had given me prior to leaving the Temple. I unhooked the pin and skipped it down the hallway along the floor. I had rehearsed this with Natsumi, who had already sunk down onto the ground, and I joined her a moment later. As the two guards pulled up and leveled their rifles, the grenade struck the toe of the foremost' boot and bounced up against his knee before detonating. They both disappeared in a burst of powder and shrapnel, and what remained as Natsumi and I stood back up was too gruesome to examine. I'd have felt bad, but these were the same shits who had shot my woman the day before, after all.

From somewhere far off to our left, there was a low thud of concussion, and the floor trembled slightly under our feet. I was guessing the monks at the front had fired one of their shoulder-mounted launchers at the front entrance, signaling the beginning of the proper assault. Plaster, dislodged from the ceiling, scattered down onto the floor at my feet. The mic in my ear crackled and Sougen's voice came across, issuing directives in his low, militaristic voice.

"Let's wait here to see if they send any more after us, or if they'll all be recalled."

Natsumi nodded. Her issues with the unrecognizable mess of the guards didn't seem to run as deep as my own – she wasn't bothered by the presence of the crimson paste staining the walls of the corridor. She tapped the butt of her pistol against her thigh for a time. Through the walls of the complex, I could hear staccato blasts of rifle fire and the steady thud of a machine-gun – probably Hayate. It wouldn't take long for the fighting at the front to be decided – one side or the other would break within a minute or two. Clearing the rest of the complex would take hours though. Sure enough, the mic in my ear popped again.

"This is Sojo Takamine. The security detail is breaking and falling back into the administrative facilities." Even for my modest estimation, that had gone very quickly. They must have inflicted significant casualties. "Squads – I need an injury cou—"

Before Sougen could finish, there was a low 'whurr' and the lights dimmed and cut out. The hallway had no windows – Natsumi and I were in complete darkness. I felt the immediate surge of concern along our bond, and her hand was suddenly on my wrist. I used it to pat her hip slightly, though in the gloom I felt my own eyes furrow slightly. _A power failure? _The substation was at the back of Beta labs, the farthest point from the attack. It wouldn't have sustained any damage.

The emergency lighting came on, pulsing to life in a low, red glow that barely illuminated the hallway. Natsumi released my wrist as the mic popped again, and Sougen spoke: "Situation report?"

I keyed my mic. "Lazarus here. We're just up the hallway from Alpha. Other than the lights, no change. We're fi—" I began, before there was a sudden burst of shattering glass from farther up the hallway, around the corner that separated us from the junction between Alpha labs and the administrative section.

"What was that?" Rika's voice was in my ear. But from around the corner, a low moaning howl had replaced the klaxons – which had died with the lights. Mournfully, it carried down the hallway and raised the hairs on my arms. And then the hallway, just out of sight, was filled with the sound of claws scrabbling on the tiles – accompanied by gruff barking huffs. It was as if a kennel of Dobermans had escaped just around the corner. The racket went on for a time before fading away farther down the hallway – a near miss, by the sound of it. I was praising my fortunes when one of the things came around the corner and caught sight of us.

It was one of the Shikabane. Its skin was shimmering under the crimson glow of the backup lighting – either from the suspension fluid or its own secretions was a contemplation best left unconsidered. It stood in a squat, bow-legged manner, the hooked talons of its feet clicking around the ground like a massive bird's. Its lanky arms reached down to the floor from its hunched position, the hooked claws there curled back against its palms in loose fists, its knuckles dragging on the ground. Wide, dish-like eyes stared, sans pupil, down the corridor at us. Its wide, razor-fanged maw hung open in a slack, vacant expression enhanced by its blank stare.

I felt my stomach lurch, and my hand flew to my ear.

"Sougen. The Shikabane. They're lose!"

There was a moment of silence, at which point the wall to my left released the low thud of gunfire again as Sougen replied: "We know!" Underneath his voice, I could hear shouting behind him. _Christ, they're fast to get up there…_ I hadn't even finished the thought before the ghastly truth of it came to light. Our very own Shikabane lurched down the hallway, his arms lifting away to clear room for his feet to propel him forwards. As his arms spread wide, the claws upon her feet scratched and cracked the tiles in his sudden burst forwards. If it wasn't for the splayed claws upon its widespread hands, and the gaping, oozing jaws, it would have seemed to be leaping forwards for an embrace – one that I wasn't keen on returning.

"Natsumi!" My call was short, but also entirely unnecessary as the young woman at my hip lifted her pistol and began to fire so quickly it seemed her gun had elected to empty its clip with a single press of the trigger. The muzzle of the pistol began to rise with the recoil, but her aim was true, and the bullets tore chunks of flesh from the onrushing mass of the Shikabane. For one horrifying moment, I didn't think it was working – he rushed upon us like a bull – but at the last moment, his balance failed and he slid forwards, his momentum driving him forwards on his face towards us so that he slid to a halt at my feet. _Close one._

"Let's go." I started down the hallway, turning the corner in order to examine the entrance to Alpha labs. The glass doorways had been blown outwards from within, and the tile about the entranceway was thick with black, putrid bile. Laying in the puddle of gore was one of the Shikabane – having apparently eviscerated itself on the glass as it plowed through, heedless of its own wellbeing. Its eyes were open, vacant and glassed over. Natsumi prodded it with a toe experimentally regardless.

The mic was silent now, but I could still hear the steady thud of explosions and automatic fire that implied that the Kougon sect was still holding their ground. I stepped over the dead Shikabane and entered the lab. Each of the acrylic tanks had been smashed outwards as their occupants violently escaped.

"What should we do?" Natsumi was following after me, her pistol held ready in her hand. Her comment startled a figure that rose up out of the ruddy haze of the emergency lighting. It was a pudgy lab technician, clad in his white coat. Prior to our arrival, he had been staring fixedly into the computer monitor from which I had pulled Ander's documents the night before. Natsumi leveled her gun at him and he froze, before he relaxed. "You're Shikabane Hime. You can't hurt me." The comment seemed to invigorate him.

"No?" I asked, swinging my fist into the side of his meaty head hard enough to stagger him – but not drop him out. He went down onto one knee, and I looked past him to the screen. Flickering images danced on the screen, and it took me a moment to recognize them as the close circuit images of the administrative lobby. The Kougon sect had circled their members around the odd statue I had noted there, and were making what seemed to be a desperate stand. The majority of the monks were armed with rifles or shotguns, while the young women that accompanied them were a mixed group, wielding a bizarre assortment of projectile and melee weapons. All of them were furiously engaged by the whirling mass of putrid figures that bounded and slashed at them like wolves from all sides. Already, I could see several of the monks had been stricken, and in places there were dismembered torsos cast about the room amid gouts of blood.

I drew the Grach and placed the muzzle against the back of the lab tech's skull, where the skin drew over itself in waves. He flinched powerfully.

"Activate the containment breach protocol."

"The what?" His voice was shrill and his eyes were rolling. I smacked him lightly with the barrel to get his attention.

"I know you use electronic pulses in the frontal cortex to control them. I know you can overload them to destroy their brains. Do it."

"I can't do that!" His voice was pleading, simpering, and when he inclined his face up to me, I saw he was actually crying, fluid running from his nose onto the shiny surface of his upper lip. I felt rather than saw Natsumi's own lip lift in a sneer. "That would destroy years of research!"

"Do it, or I'm repainting this room crimson." I used my free hand to collect the collar of his coat and hauled him up onto his feet – dead weight though he was. I pushed him back into the chair he had vacated, and rested the muzzle of the Grach on his shoulder. I was bluffing. I didn't think I could shoot an unarmed man. I could feel through the bond that Natsumi would have no problems killing him. I was glad she couldn't – his death would preclude his help.

On the screen I could see the dwindling numbers of the monks – perhaps half their number still remained standing, but all of them were fighting bitterly. I could see the tiny form of Saki standing before Rika, swinging her hammer in massive overhead blows that threw aside her antagnoists in cartwheels of broken limbs and crushed torsos. Even as I watched, however, one of the Shikabane looped a hooked hand behind her ankle and unseated her balance, knocking her flat. In an instant, she was struggling with one of the things on top of her.

"Now, damn it, or I'll drag you out there and feed you to those things."

That seemed to do it. The tech reached out and began to tap something frantically into the console of the CCTV screen. I was too busy watching the images to note what it was – I couldn't tell if Saki was still moving underneath her opponent. Even Kamika, both swords drawn and slashing, was beginning to flag – even in the grainy quality of the close circuit, I could see her sagging. The tech hit the return key and everything changed.

The Shikabane froze, their limbs jerking and shuddering in spasmodic flails as the electronic implants in their skulls began to overload. The wide, disc-like eyes set in each face burst in a spray of viscous fluid, before their limbs went slack, and like a single organism, they crumpled to the floor. I released a low sigh of relief – I hadn't been one-hundred percent on it working – before I clubbed the tech with the barrel of the gun and he slumped forward. I couldn't shoot him, but that had been satisfying.

"Status report!" Sougen's voice in my ear with ragged and breathless, and I could hear him breathing heavily for a moment or two before he keyed his mic off and I responded, my hand to my ear.

"Lazarus: Natsumi and I are fine."

"What happened?"

"We kicked the plug out of the wall."

"The overload chip. Good work." There was a pause for a full minute, before the radio keyed in again. "Lazarus. We don't have enough manpower left to sweep the facility for the rest of their security detail. We have something else in mind. We're sending someone back."

The line clicked off, and I worked my jaw back and forth for a moment or two. _Nothing for it._ I kept the Grach in hand as Natsumi fidgeted. It was only a minute or so before there was a crunch of glass and the small figure of Saki appeared within the lab. She was coated in gore, and there was a slash across her sundress, but she was alive, and carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle under her arm, her hammer slung improbably over her slight shoulders. She padded right up to us, ignoring the unconscious tech in the seat beside us.

"Rika said to put this in the power-substation." Saki held the cloth package out to me. "She said you'd know where that was."

"Of course. It's behind the Beta Labs", I started, before I took the package off of the girl, and nearly dropped it, surprised by the weight. "What is this?" I pulled the cloth back.

It was the bomb the Yamaguchi had left in the temple. The red lights were blinking, indicating that it was counting down. "What the _fuck_, Saki?"

"_Relax_", the girl said, nonplussed, and lifted her wrist to show me an oversized watch – probably Sougen's. It was counting down – nine minutes and ten seconds to go. "It's complicated to set. Honda did it. He gave us eleven minutes. Said it should be plenty."

"I hope he's right", I said, hefting the bomb under my arm and turning to follow Natsumi – who was already drawing her pistol as she neared the doors to Beta lab at the far side of the room. "Otherwise I'm going to be very cross and very exploded." Saki padded after me, and Natsumi fired two rounds through the glass pane of the doorway, shattering it. Beyond was darkness – the lights within hadn't activated. Natsumi paused, uncertain, and I holstered the Grach in order to place a hand comfortably on the small of her back in reassurance.

Saki was at our side then, her childlike face staring up at me. She was scowling, and I lifted a brow in silent question.

"You two aren't fooling anyone, you know", she said haughtily, before stepping beyond us into the abysmal void of the broken doorway.

* * *

><p>It took some rummaging, but Saki found the lights. Beta lab looked exactly the same as Alpha, save for the fact there were no acrylic tanks, and the lighting was standard – not emergency. Test-tubes lined the racks upon the counters, but the bomb blinking away under my arm proved a powerful deterrent against stopping to look. I continued through the sinister, sterile environment, flanked to each side by Natsumi and the girl Shikabane. I repressed the mad urge to seize their hands and skip – if it weren't for our circumstances, we'd be and idyllic trio. Natsumi caught some of it through the bond – I felt her nervousness slacken some as we crossed the lab.<p>

The doors to the power substation were grey and utilitarian, clashing magnificently with the sterile white of the lab. They seemed almost dirty – which was a bizarrely blessed change of pace. In bold, stenciled yellow letters, the door warned that unauthorized personnel were not permitted beyond this point – due to high voltage. _I wonder if we're authorized._ Whatever they were doing in this lab was clearly sucking up a lot of juice. The door was locked, but before I could take a look at the padlock, Saki had hurled back with her hammer and smashed the latch to pieces. Apparently it was a habit.

"Maybe you should stay out here", I suggested dryly.

"Don't be dumb." She marched in ahead of me.

"Maybe she'll get electrocuted?" I offered hopefully, my voice dry.

"She's just a girl", Natsumi reminded me as she slipped into the power substation as well, and I followed the pair into the room. I was surprised to see how small it was – no more than twenty feet squared. But aside from the small alcove allowing technicians ingress, it was packed with metal coils that hummed contentedly with raw power. Apparently the power failure had been engineered – there certainly wasn't any problem with the supply. Tentative of a fatal jolt, I nudged the blinking device I carried underneath one of the transformers. _That should make a mess._ I turned to Saki.

"How are we for time?"

The blonde child checked the loose strap of the watch – which had settled down around her elbow, before she spoke. "Seven minutes fourty."

"Let's go."

"_Hai._"

I was feeling quite relieved now as we stepped out of the substation and moved back into Beta Lab. It took me several seconds to notice that there had been a change. It was occupied. The man who stood at the counter nearest to Alpha labs was facing us, the small of his back pressed against the counter. He was gaunt, and tall, his dark, wiry hair slightly peppered about his temples. His cool, calculating gray eyes peered out from above his hawk nose, and the way his arms folded across his check implied to me he was impatiently waiting for something. Natsumi drew to a halt beside me, and Saki followed suit.

"Hello, Laz." The man's voice was low – a rumbling, New York accent.

It was Marcus Vert.

* * *

><p>I couldn't think of anything to say for a time, but I found my tongue casually enough. "Marcus. I must say, this is a surprise. You never used to visit the labs."<p>

"This is a special occasion." Marcus' voice was amicable – but I didn't trust him for a single moment. "I had to come down here to meet an old friend, and thank him. You've been a tremendous help."

"Any time you need me to wipe out your subject matter, I'll be happy to help, Marcus – old bean."

He seemed perplexed for a moment, his head cocking aside much like a kestrel's, before he smiled thinly – and an air of the predatory settled about him before he spoke: "Ah, you mean the Alpha product. Yes, well, you saved me from doing it myself. They're worthless now. We're going in a different direction. Thanks to you."

"The Catalytic Enzyme you had on the redundant files."

Now Marcus looked truly surprised. "Well, well – how did you know that? But yes, you're quite right. You see these?" Marcus waved a hand to the vials, before he plucked one from its holder. "Our first batch of the finalized retrovirus. Very effective. Takes only a minute or so to initialize."

Saki was blinking in confusion, but Natsumi – armed with the explanation I had given her – was shifting nervously again at my side. I touched her waist again to quiet her, before I stepped slightly forward to face Marcus. I used the back of my hand to flick open my duster and lay my fingers on the butt of the Grach. "I won't be giving you a minute if you try it, Marcus. Sorry. Unsporting of me."

"Oh, quite right, Laz. I figured you'd say that. Which is why I injected myself right after you went into the substation."

His words had only just managed to register when Marcus was on me. _Fuck, he's fast._ I hadn't even caught his movement, but before I could flinch away, his fist sunk into my stomach and lifted me clean from my feet. I felt my ribs crack under the force of the strike and as I was hurled backwards, my legs caught the edge of one of the counters and I flipped bodily back over it, and onto the floor. I gasped, but couldn't properly draw breath. As I turned my gaze – rimmed red from shock – back up, I saw Natsumi and Saki grappling with Marcus. But it was clear from the onset they were in trouble – neither of the two were permitted to hurt him. Bound as they were, all they could do was defend, and his strength was obscene.

Saki had drawn her hammer, but only to parry the sweeping strikes of Vert's fists with the shaft. As I watched, one slipped through and caught her square in the chest. She lost her hammer as she was tossed aside, her tiny form sliding away across the tile, under the counters towards the rear of the lab. Now Natsumi was alone, but I couldn't find my feet to stand and help her. Marcus was forcing her, sending her back in a wholly defensive stance. He swung a fist at her head, aiming to stove in her skull, but she intercepted it with her forearm in a parry. There was a crack like a gunshot as the bones of her arm snapped, and she swore in pain, her guard dropping. Vert seized her by her dark hair and swung her violently aside, where she upended one of the counters, and sent a shower of glass vials to their doom on the linoleum floor.

Marcus cracked his knuckles in satisfaction, before he began moving to where I lay on the floor beneath the counter. With a single hand, he reached under its lip and threw it aside, exposing me. His smile was still friendly, but his eyes were animal – insane.

"My, my. You weren't nearly as tough as I was led to believe, Lazarus. I hear when you kill a Shikabane's contracted monk, they got through a fascinating metamorphosis. I must confess I'm intrigued." His hand found my collar and I found myself hauled upright, my chest burning as his hand closed around my neck – and for the second time, I found my windpipe closed off. "Disappointing – but I guess failed experiments pave the way for success." Marcus drew back his other hand.

I smiled and he hesitated long enough for my fist to find his abdomen, and he doubled over, but didn't release my throat. Snapping my head forward, I felt my forehead connect with the bridge of his nose with a satisfying pop. Saki and Natsumi had stalled long enough. The serum I had injected while prostrated on the floor had begun to take effect. My supply was limited, but if there was ever a time to use it, it was now. Vert's grip slackened and I tore myself away from him, feeling my ribs knit back together rapidly. His nose was bleeding as he lifted his face to affix me with a hateful glare. He swung a fist at me with that same blinding speed – but it was a speed I could follow now.

I blocked, feeling the bones of my arm creak – but unlike Natsumi's, they didn't fracture. Vert was still much stronger than me, but I could hold my own. _All I have to do is stall._ Marcus aimed a backhand at my face, which I ducked and danced back out of range, but he pursued me across the lab so quickly I wasn't able to buy myself any time. Another punch flashed towards my face – Marcus was going for the kill – but I managed to catch his wrist, though the shock of the impact nearly dislocated my shoulder. Vert struggled for a moment to free his wrist, before he simply lifted his free hand and shoved me. His strength was overwhelming – I lost my grip and stumbled backwards. My heels caught on the shaft of Saki's discarded hammer and my balance went with it. I twisted and fell, catching my head against one of the lab tabled with enough force to set my vision swimming.

Marcus was standing over me in an instant, but even now he wouldn't learn his lesson. His lips twisted into a sinister, gloating smile. "Too bad. It is the fate of prototypes to be surpassed", he commiserated, drawing back his fist with the intent to crush my skull against the linoleum. He jerked to a halt, his breath leaving him in a low woosh. His fist was still lifted menacingly, but as I watched, the fingers uncurled in order to flex in pain.

"W..what?" Marcus' voice was a confused, pained whisper as I pushed myself unsteadily back onto my own feet. A rivulet of blood was running from the corner of his eye, snaking its way down his face towards his chin.

"Marcus." My voice was as amicable as his had been, though I knew my dispassion was so thorough it could not be mistaken. "You made a very silly mistake." He couldn't speak, but released another gasping breath of pain. "You figured Anders had made a mistake and had to synthesize the enzyme as a solution for his original oversight. That was always your problems, Marcus. Your superiority complex. Anders' did it intentionally." I had to pause as Marcus violently vomited the contents of his stomach on the floor – still hunched over and unable to move.

"Yes, the side effects are quite bad the first time, aren't they?" My own stomach was lurching, but I was ready for it now, and kept it down. I fumbled aside for the shaft of the hammer that had sent me sprawling, speaking as I hoisted it over my shoulder. "But for you, they'll be fatal. Your body isn't working with a finite supply of enzyme. It's producing it. Which means the enhanced proteins are always working. They're going to burn through your cells without a way to switch off."

Marcus managed to lift his head then, gazing up at me with a look of utter hatred, but I merely shook my head. "Or they would, if you lived long enough to have them kill you." I lifted the hammer off of my shoulder, resolved to act while my own serum was still in effect. "Bye, Marcus."

I swung with everything I had.

* * *

><p>Saki was the first to recover, and she moved to join me. Like the child she was, she insistently held out her hand for her hammer, her other arm wrapped around her injured ribs. I handed it back to her as she considered the crushed form of the man before us.<p>

"You killed him", she said. She sounded confused. _Due to her contract, she doesn't see that sort of thing often._

"He needed killing." Natsumi had joined us, and I turned as she spoke. Her left arm was dangling uselessly at her side, and I nodded a single time.

"Damn right", I offered in agreement, before looking to the blonde girl. "How much time do we have?" She showed the face of the watch to me - two minutes, fourty-four seconds. "Time to leave."

We didn't have to run – thank God, as I didn't think any of us were in the condition for it – and as we slipped out of the lab, I fished around inside my duster for my mp3 player. Natsumi took her earbud as I shuffled the tracks.

Nelly. _Here Comes the Boom._ Saki cocked an eyebrow at us both as we walked, but I merely shook my head as we moved back towards the shattered doors. I took a moment to glance about the lab as we limped collectively away. I was glad every bit of it was going to be destroyed.

_Every bit but one._


	8. Epilogue A: Somewhere Only We Know

**Epilogue: Somewhere Only We Know**

**Two weeks later.**

I was sitting on a bench in the park near my apartment. It was the middle of summer now, and even though the sun had begun to set in front of me, it was still quite warm. Before me, the footpath that ran through the park played host to a number of idly passing pedestrians as they enjoyed the last dregs of the day.

In the fortnight that had passed since the incident at VeriSci, I had moved out of the temple's guest room and found a place of my own in Bunkyo, near the University. I was surprised to find very few of the Kougon monks actually lived at the temple – the majority of the non-leadership roles preferred to commute to the complex, enjoying the autonomy that a home life separate from their work at the sect presented. I found myself in agreement with this philosophy.

Though I had chosen a secular existence, I was still officially a member of the temple, as what they referred to as a 'lay associate'. The sect had many contacts in the local community, so I was glad to still be serving a reduced role – Sougen had spoken to the board of Tokyo University and I found myself accepted with little difficulty for the upcoming fall term. I was on track to finish the graduate degree I had abandoned when I had left America. The money Robert Barret had given me had survived my initial uninhibited spending in good shape – I had more than enough to pay rent and live comfortably until I had graduated.

Robert himself was doing well. I had heard in the news a few days ago that VeriSci had lost its criminal negligence and business ethics case, and was laboring under massive fines, in addition to a board of directors who were now fighting bitterly against criminal charges that had been filed by the state of New York for their role in the phase one experimentation. Robert was also on the chopping block, but long before his civil case against VeriSci had come to a close, he had negotiated a deal with the state department for immunity from prosecution in return for his testimony and cooperation. He was going to come out of this one _just_ fine.

Marcus Vert was also facing charges in America and Japan for murder one and serious ethical shortfalls at VeriSci Japan respectively. However, according to the report released by the Tokyo Metropolitan, he was still missing in the wake of the loss of the VeriSci Japan complex. The explosion that destroyed the main power substation was being treated as unexplained but not as suspicious, and the resultant electrical fires spread throughout the whole facility, destroying both labs completely, as well as the majority of the supporting structures. What still stood was slated for demolition later that year.

The Yamaguchi clan had their own problems. The OCCB was renewing their push in Kabuchiko, as well as reports of major raids by the Prefectural Police of their headquarters in Kobe. They hadn't bothered me since the night at the warehouse, but for some reason, they felt like small fish to me now. I wasn't concerned.

"You look relaxed."

I glanced up to find Honda standing over the bench. He was still dressed in the deep blue robes of his bloodline. He was looking relaxed himself, his crown freshly shaved and his face smooth, save for the barest wrinkles about his mouth as he smiled. Surprised, but only marginally, I indicated the bench beside me and he sat.

"I _feel_ relaxed. It's the first time in a while."

There was a due pause before he spoke:

"My bloodline tends to be vilified by the other members of the Kougon Sect, for our opinion on Shikabane Hime. How could we possibly feel so negatively about giving these women a second chance?" He glanced out across the path to were the waters of a the park's lake were still in the dying sunlight. "But the truth is, it is simply a belief we have held since the founding of the sect. It is a belief that we maintain, similar in spirit if not in content to the rest of the Sect. Nothing more, and nothing less. It is up to each of us to determine what it is we believe."

I thought for a moment before I spoke, my hands held passively in my lap. "Our beliefs don't have to be validated by the common opinion, as long as we believe in them." He seemed to appreciate that in silence for a time, but eventually spoke again.

"The Gon-Sojo have finished going over the data we recovered from VeriSci before the explosion. Their report suggests that VeriSci documented a previous experiment, utilizing conscripted test subjects from their own workforce, with the goal of enhancing human performance to be on the same level of efficiency as Shikabane. It was a horrific failure. The fatality rate was over ninety-nine percent."

Out on the expanse of grass on the far side of the pathway but before the lake, a woman was in the process of unfurling a blanket out the sloping ground. She had a pair of children with her – a boy and a girl – who stood listlessly by.

"The purpose of the Kougon sect is to preserve life. Ninety-nine percent is far too wasteful. I can't approve of such an experiment, regardless of the benefits the one percent offers. If our goal is to save our species, then our means have to be in the spirit of that goal. Not just our ends. The Gon-Dai Sojo doesn't share this opinion. He's ordered the Gon-Sojo to examine your blood and the data we recovered to determine if the experiment could be repeated."

The woman across from us had wrangled her children now and sat them down. They were eating something from a basket she had brought along, and watching the waterfowl at the edge of the lake pick about the grass, their long necks jerking up and down.

"However, when the Gon-Sojo went to recover the data and your samples, they found both had mysteriously disappeared." Honda was smiling softly to himself now as he spoke. "The Gon-Dai Sojo mentioned something to me about asking you for more samples, but for the life of me, I cannot remember what it was. It couldn't have been too important."

As we watched, a man strode leisurely across the grass towards the dining trio on the blanket, and when he reached them, he folded his legs beneath himself and sat. The young girl, her face sticky with jam, clambered into his lap and offered him the remaining half of her sandwich.

"Are you sure of what you're doing, Honda?" My question came after a time of reflection.

"Yes. Or nearly sure. I might be withholding information from my superior, the Gon-Dai Sojo, but he is withholding all of this from his superior, the Dai-Sojo, who would never approve of all of this. If the castle falls down, I will still have the biggest fish in support. That, and the moral right."

The family on the blanket had finished eating by now, and the children had been released from their responsibility. Duly, they took to running along the bank of the lake, pursuing the ducks that scattered before them. Quacking reproachfully, the fowl propelled themselves out into the safety of the water, gliding like ghosts and sending soft wakes that rippled across surface of the lake – a liquid gold in the failing light. Honda stood and stretched his arms out before him before he offered a parting observation.

"It's difficult, knowing things. There's a lot of ugliness in this world. Sometimes we have to stop and look around…" He glanced back towards the family close at hand. "Otherwise we forget that no matter how grim life seems, its ugliness is completely overwhelmed by the beautiful."

He nodded to himself and turned to depart up the footpath, his sandaled feet clicking softly as he made his slow way. As he went, he spoke over his shoulder. "Do not forget, you will always have friends at the temple, _Amerika-jin_." And then he was gone.

I remained at the bench for some time. The sun sank lower over the lake and then disappeared, a blazing pillar reflected against the water. The children and their parents had navigated around the lake, but I could still hear the playful cries of the young ones carrying on the rapidly cooling air. The sky was turning a deep, poignant shade of crimson.

"Are you ready?" Natsumi had approached in my distraction. She had a rucksack over one shoulder.

"_Hai._" I bent down to recover my faithful dufflebag, which had patiently waited beside the bench during my discourse with Honda. I slung the strap over my head as I stood. "The sect won't miss you for a few days?"

"I spoke to Sojo Aragami. She seems wise to us. But she didn't protest. Everything else is ready. I have the keys to the cottage in my bag. We can escape, for a little bit." As we began to move down the footpath towards the gate at the edge of the park, I reached into my pocket and withdrew my mp3 player. Natsumi reached for one of the ear buds, and I placed the other in my ear nearest to her. I thumbed the shuffle button.

Keane. _Somewhere Only We Know._

I slipped the player back into my pocket and let it run. As I withdrew my hand, Natsumi extended her own silently and I reached for it. Her cool fingers filled the spaces between my warmer ones perfectly and as we walked, I found my smile.

Honda was absolutely right, of course.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks for reading! I know this isn't what a lot of people expect from - more of a celebration of the setting than any particular homage to a character pairing from the series. But that being said, if you made it this far, I am truly honored. I'd also appreciate reviews to let me know how I can improve. Thanks!


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